Witch's Intuition
by Katja93
Summary: Acantha (OC) has always been a misfit. After an incident renders the Academy no longer habitable, she leaves the Coven, certain she's better off on her own, when she runs into the Supreme, with whom she shares a strange bond and discovers a dark secret about herself. [AU-OC]
1. Chapter 1

**Witch's Intuition: Coven AU.**

 **Author's note: Set before the show in a world where Fiona isn't ill and Cordelia isn't blind. Stars Fiona and Acantha. Cordelia, Myrtle and The Axeman will be slightly involved, as may Marie Laveau. Delphine, Hank, Kyle, Luke, Joan, etc. will not be part of this story arc and the girls (Zoe, Madison, Queenie, Nan and Misty) may have bit parts but no story arc. [Rated M due to unforeseeable future chapters].**

 _ **Acantha has always been a misfit. After an incident rendering the Academy no longer habitable, she leaves the Coven, certain she's better off on her own, when she runs into the Supreme, with whom she shares a strange bond. This is her story.**_

I'd squandered what little power I was permitted at Miss Robichaux's Academy. My more than dubious past and inability- or rather my refusal, to hide and deny my previously questionable ways had gifted me a reputation of being untrustworthy. They looked into my eyes and called me sister, but I knew I would never truly be one of them. Their obvious distain was hidden behind their courteous smiles, but it was not hidden well. I had been accepted into them by the law of the coven, and it read that way on any piece of documented paper found in the building, but their eyes harboured uncertainties and their lips whispered lies as I passed them in the corridors and joined them at the table each evening. The limited power and respect I'd been afforded did not help my situation. It was clear, though it went unmentioned, that even the established, trusted mentors did not look upon on me favourably or as an equal. So it was only natural then that the other girls saw no reason to treat me as such. Cordelia, the Headmistress, had no faith in my abilities- that was clear. And it was fine by me; my hopes and expectations of finally finding a place I could belong were quelled shortly after realising the reality. A bitter disappointment as everything else in my life had seemed to be. I couldn't be angry with the way my situation had unravelled, but I didn't have to be pleased with it either. So I took their pity and unwillingness to be civil. I took their whispered lies and daggered eyes. I took their nervousness and disgust. I took it all with a smile and waited, much longer than any of the other girls had had to wait, until my time finally came, and I was properly rewarded with the power I deserved. But that day never came to fruition. Miss Robichaux's Academy was a mass of charred bones, smoking in the ground before the year was up. If you listened to the girlish titters and hushed accusations, you may believe it was I who had started the blaze. Rumour has it that fire flew from my eyes, like bats from a cave, as my bitter tears turned to glowing sparks; that I'd been scorned one too many times, and in a fit of rage, was witnessed to have been dancing, in a catatonic trance, with a candlestick in my hand, igniting everything I graced until I was encircled with flames; that the smoke had come first, slithering from my poisonous mouth like a noxious reptile ready to devour every set of lungs that roomed here; that I'd contacted The Devil and bargained my soul in return for the ashes of the Academy and the vision of the blaze burned into my mind forever. These are, of course, nothing more than elaborate stories, but I'm not here to convince you of that. I've spent too many of my days trying to convince stupid people of things their inferior brains couldn't help but accept as truths. My skin is far too thick, and bruised with many other, more fatal attempts to damage me, to be truly affected by tainted whispers. I've learned to ride on their elevated tales and reap the rewards; the fear and respect- but I cannot take credit for burning that hell hole to the ground- though I would commend anyone who came forward and admitted to doing so. At this young age my power wouldn't have allowed it. No, my crimes ascend the bounds of mere arson. With the chance introduction of one woman my life changed forever. My potential was finally witnessed and I was finally granted my deserved power.

After the Academy burned we were homeless. The school masqueraded as a legal institution, for which admittance was signed by parents or guardians- for the under-aged, at least. This meant that Cordelia was now responsible for finding the handful of pupils somewhere safe and clean to live, whilst being protected enough to practice magic without attracting any unwanted attention. The Council was, of course, summoned. They spent four days lounging around in our hotel suite, drinking Martinis and trying to point the finger. It didn't take the full four days, however, for Myrtle Snow to gather all her witch's intuition and channel the blame straight at me. The moment she entered the room her dark, sunken eyes popped in horror as soon as they met my face. Later that evening I heard her comforting a distraught Cordelia. 'Don't worry, little bird, we'll find a way to prove it.'

'How can you be so certain? No one's found any evidence to suggest Acantha had anything to do with this. I think you must be paranoid,' Delia sniffed.

'Don't be so blind, child. Don't you see it in her eyes? She has another residing inside of her and it won't be long before it pops right out and devours us whole, with the effort it takes a fat child to eat a fistful of caramel corn.'

Cordelia rolled her eyes. 'She's a 19 year old witch. And not even a particularly powerful one at that. You're too quick to judge.'

'Delia, her name _literally_ means 'thorn'. And in our sides she has thrust herself, and we _will_ bleed, my dear.'

'And even for a witch, you're too superstitious.' Cordelia shook her head, but patted Myrtle's hand, lovingly and smiled. 'I'll admit she's a little different. None of the girls have taken to her-'

'-Well that's evidence enough in itself!' Myrtle proclaimed, standing from the bed and lighting a cigarillo. 'Never doubt a witch's intuition, my little lamb.' She blew a puff of smoke messily into the air.

'And never use the flimsy opinions of a bunch of teenage girls to help decide the fate of one accused of arson. We both know that wouldn't be a valid point to make in front of The Council.'

Myrtle hung her head and returned to the bed, petting Delia's hand. 'You're right, my darling, of course you are. But I worry greatly about the kind of witch we've allowed into our Coven. It's a wonder you all made it out alive.'

I stayed until the four days were up, simply because the room was under the strict guard of Myrtle's albino henchmen, but made the decision that very night that I would be fleeing at my first opportunity. I had decided to accept the thing I'd known long ago; some wolves do not go with the pack. And some witches do not survive in a Coven. The first breath of fresh air that burst through my lungs finally rid the overpowering stench of burning walls and sulphur. The second filled me with a clear idea of where I wanted to go. My feet walked me, steadily, through the streets of New Orleans, all the way to the gated charred remnants of Miss Robichaux's Academy. The gates had been wrapped in yellow police tape, but it now just hung there, blowing intermittently in the breeze. The investigation had been closed. Officials had said there was no foul play, but Myrtle Snow had rebuked that statement on the grounds of them being unable to determine if the candle had fallen, as they had said, or been used as a torch. In the eyes of human law I was never even under question, but in the eyes of Wiccan Law I was already burning at the stake for my crimes.

I climbed the steps up to the black rubble. Areas of the mess were still smoking, others had remained almost intact. The front wall of the house had fallen and revealed the sitting room, singed and mangled by the force of the fire. Portraits of marred, melted predecessors of the Supreme hung, mournfully, wilting in horror and sadness- some torched completely to ashes. It was a shocking state to see the beautiful grand old house. It was as though no one had loved it in its hundreds of years of sturdy asylum. As though it had been abandoned and abused, despite so many women seeking safety and education behind its walls.

I sauntered through the debris, coal rubbing off against my boots as I kicked the fallen ceiling away. I heard the gates squeak and turned to see a woman approaching the house, a look of horror on her face. 'I go away for five goddamn minutes and she _burns down_ my house. Jesus Christ, Delia,' she muttered to herself, through gritted teeth. I walked out through the gaping hole where a wall once stood, down the charred piles of crap to the steps of the house.

'Who're you?' I asked, as the blonde pulled off her sunglasses in order to really soak up the horror of it all. She stepped a black Jimmy Choo or two up the path towards me.

'The Wicked Witch of the West,' she smirked. 'What are you doing on my property?'

I shrugged. 'Just came to see if I could save any of my things.'

'And?' she asked, continuing her lazy sashay down the path.

'It's all trashed,' I shook my head and sighed, sitting on the darkened steps.

'No shit, kid,' she muttered, joining me. She ran her fingers through her hair, sighing.

'If you own this place, how come I've never seen you around?'

She sighed again, this time I knew it was aimed at my entire existence. 'I had stuff to do, a life to live. I'm sorry, _who_ are you?' Her lips pursed and her dark eyes narrowed, questioning.

'Acantha Starling. Witch,' I said, a little too cockily, hoping to attack her investigative expression. I lit a cigarette and blew a plume of smoke in the air, smiling.

'Fiona Goode. Supreme,' she purred deeply, raising her eyebrows. I dropped my gaze and fixed my superior expression to that of abashed idiot. She snorted her laughter into the awkward silence. 'Acantha? Jesus. Your parents didn't give you a chance, did they?' I shook my head, scoffing. 'Where's Delia?'

'Cinnamon Hotel, with the other riff raff,' I snorted, standing up and taking another drag of my cigarette.

'Riff raff? Huh,' she smirked, standing to her feet. 'If I was my daughter I'd be chastising you for being disrespectful towards your sister witches.'

'Those bitches aren't my sisters- by blood or by magic.'

'Oh dear,' Fiona mocked. 'What happened? Did they pick on you?' She laughed and flashed her perfectly straight white teeth. I turned to face her straight on. She was a lot taller than me, but I put most of that down to the ridiculous height of her shoes. Her power bounced off me, radiating from her. I'd never known such power, and I'm not ashamed to say it scared me. But I wasn't about to let her know that.

'They hate me. And I'm not in the habit of changing to fit other people's whims.'

She scoffed back at me. 'Well, as admirable as that is, there's a reason we witches form Covens. Strength in numbers, kid.'

'I don't need a Coven.'

'Oh, you're immortal?' she questioned knowingly, raising her eyebrows with a sarcastic glare. 'Hot damn! What a rarity it is to have an indestructible little darling in the vicinity. What an honour, for a mere old Supreme like me. Thank you for gracing me with your presence, oh eternal one.' I glared back at her. She stepped towards me with force, her fist balled in frustration. 'It's an ignorant and _stupid_ little girl who turns from the protection of a witch as capable as Cordelia to be on her own. Any witch that does that deserves what she has coming to her,' she spat through gritted teeth.

'And what's that?' I hissed back at her.

'I don't know. We've never allowed anyone so stupid anywhere near our Coven. Get in the goddamn car.' She waved her fingers gracefully towards the blacked out BMW sitting in front of the house.

'I'm not going back there.'

'Listen here, kid. You'll do exactly as I tell you. Either out of respect for the one person in this whole wide world who could make your life a living hell, or because I will simply make you do it, against your will, with as much effort as it takes to flick on a light switch. Now, get in the goddamn car.' Her face was inches from mine, her arm outstretched towards the car. Her eyes were hypnotic, physically filling with rage right in front of me. I threw my cigarette into the pile of blackened waste and stomped, childishly, to the car. I'm embarrassed to recount this so honestly, as I was yet to truly understand the respect and reverence owed to a Supreme. I was a childish girl, naïve, and convinced I was better than those around me- even Fiona Goode. But how rapidly that all changed when I started to really understand magic and what having that power meant, all with the help of the reigning Supreme.


	2. Chapter 2

'What the hell happened to my goddamn house?' Fiona yelled, flying the hotel door wide open with a slight flick of the wrist. She pounded her elegant feet powerfully through to the lavish living and dining area of the hotel suite. The room was nice, but not Fiona Goode nice. And most certainly not big enough for everyone who lived at Miss Robichaux's. The girls were sat around talking and reading, when Fiona flung her arm in anger, causing their books to fly across the room. They looked up and regarded their Supreme with a mixture of longing awe and fear, and I imagined that was exactly what Fiona had desired. I shuffled in behind her, afraid at her wanton attitude toward using magic directly on her Coven members. Delia stood and ran towards her mother as the girls cowered.

'Let's talk in here,' Delia hushed, taking Fiona by the arm and attempting to herd her into a nearby bedroom. Fiona shook her off.

'Get your hands off me, Delia. How could you not tell me my house is burned down?' Fiona stood open mouthed, her arms wide in disbelief.

'We're all fine, by the way,' Cordelia sighed, sitting at the round dining table meant for only four people. She rubbed her head.

'Do you have any idea what this means? I'm going to go down in history as the only Supreme to have _burned_ _down_ this Coven's home. All the history, Delia. All the power and knowledge and _protection_ we had in that house, left to us over the years by witches far more superior than any of these vapid dreamers will ever be.' Fiona threw the girls a glance, with desperate eyes, before turning back to verbally strike at Cordelia. 'You've marred my name, forever. For _eternity._ Jesus Christ, Delia. What the hell happened?'

Cordelia's eye brimmed with tears she refused to allow to flow in front of the audience. She rose from her chair, shaking slightly. 'Mother, I'm so deeply sorry about this. I- I truly don't know what happened, but it isn't my fault.' Fiona exhaled in shock, her dark eyes wide with madness. 'It's just one of those accidents that just happened to take place under my supervision.' She brought her hands together, mock praying for her mother's kinder side to rear its head. Fiona Goode didn't have a kinder side.

'That, my sweet girl, makes it entirely your fault,' the Supreme said calmly and deeply, breathing heavily all the while. Her eyes pierced her daughter's, but Delia couldn't bring herself to return the favour. She would only get caught in Fiona's power struggle and lose, as she always did. Her eyes remained on the floor and her cheeks burn at her chastisement.

'A candle fell,' said a quiet voice from behind Fiona. She turned swiftly. 'It was an accident Fiona. Even the police said so.'

'The police? Tell me, Zoe, do you think the police were looking for remnants of potions and incantations? Of evidence of attacks from Witch Hunters and Voodoo Tribes? Or do you think they were checking to see if some shit-for-brains teenager left her goddamn hair straightener plugged in?' She threw her arms up in the air in frustration and breathed deeply. 'You don't even believe that story yourself. I can't tell you how disrespectful it is to have you lie to me, to try and placate me. Just who the hell do you all think you are?'

'What do you mean we don't believe it?' Cordelia jumped in, trying to get Fiona's attention off her girls.

'I've just had a 15 minute car journey with a girl who told me you all but threw her out of the Coven with your insinuations and accusations.' Fiona pointed to the doorframe, where I stood, awkwardly, my hands entangled in one another. 'You all suspect foul play,' she turned around the room, pointing a painted black finger at everyone in it. 'And had the gall to lie to me about it.' She laughed, shaking her head. Fiona turned to me and beckoned me from the edge of the room with the gentle gesture of her finger. I felt the room's eyes on me as I walked towards her. 'I can read every single one of you. And this girl, this social goddamn reject, is the only one with any fucking balls. The rest of you will wither and die the moment you're challenged. You will acquiesce to your opponent and flounder in your lack of strength and sisterhood. You're all lousy excuses for witches.' She turned to Delia. 'And you are the worst of all.' Delia's eyes filled with tears again. This time the pain she was in was quite obvious, but her eyes didn't falter from her mother's overpowering gaze. 'I can hear what you said to Myrtle Snow. Your attempts to defend her accusations were flimsy at best. You are so easily swayed by anyone else's passion it drives you blind! Are you so unable to use your own goddamn head? Make your own judgements? For Christ sake, Delia, what are you teaching these girls? That it's okay to turn on your sister, when the rest of the world is ready to rip out our throats at any given moment?' Fiona scoffed and turned to face me. 'You won't hear this coming from me very often, perhaps never again in your life,' she breathed and lit up a cigarette. 'But you were right, kid. You don't need these witches.' She exhaled a plume of smoke and walked through it, dramatically, causing it to circle around my head as she passed me. She headed for the door, leaving me standing there, Cordelia reaching for my hand. She was half way down the hall when she yelled my name. I turned and left the room, following in my Supreme's footsteps and clouds of nicotine, feeling the Coven's eyes burning holes in my back as I went.

Fiona didn't say anything to me as we got in the car. She smoked voraciously and chuntered under her breath, sighing deeply in intervals. Her driver took us to the side of town I wasn't sure Fiona even knew about and pulled up outside a block of dilapidated apartment buildings that were crying for repair. I looked at Fiona, trying to read her but she just exited the car, slamming the door behind her. I followed to the front door. She waved her hand at the lock and entered, without a key. We started ascending a marble staircase, our footsteps echoed around us but there was something else too. Music. 'Fiona?' I squeaked.

'Hm?'

'What are we doing here?'

'Asking a friend for a favour.' I nodded my head, though she was in front and couldn't see me. She reached the first floor and waved her hand once more, allowing herself access to the apartment where the music seemed to be emanating from. I loitered in the hall, stretching my head to peek into the cesspit. Fiona swam up towards a figure I couldn't make out and as soon as she reached him the music stopped. I heard the deep mutterings of a man and then Fiona's soft giggles like purrs. 'Are you gonna stay out there all night?' she barked at me. I pushed the door open, and entered the tiny, dingy hole. Fiona was pressed up against a tall handsome man, who showed his ownership by taking hold of her ass. Her arms around his neck, her shoulders were back, her head gazing lovingly up at him, allowing her blonde waves to flow freely as she swayed. She had her back to me but I could tell she was smiling. I was entranced. Someone so powerful and in control had someone who made her knees weak and she seemed soft and pliable now. The man finally broke his gaze and looked up at me, a pleasant, knowing smile plastered on his face. This caused Fiona to break from her fairy-tale and turned to face me. 'Acantha,' she drawled, rolling her eyes in an attempt to convey to the man how much she didn't like my name. 'This is… Joe. Right?' she asked, looking up at him.

'Joe. Yeah, yes. Joe. Joe's fine.' He smiled and reached his hand out to me. I moved in to shake it but he held me only by the fingers and brought his lips down, gently to place a kiss on the top of my hand. 'It's a pleasure to meet you.'

'You too,' I said, taking back my hand. 'Is that the music I heard?' I asked, pointing to the saxophone hung around his neck.

'Yeah. You like Jazz?' he asked, his face lighting up as his fingers hit the keys.

'Er,' I started.

'This conversation is truly riveting but I actually have a reason for being here,' Fiona butted in, rolling her eyes in boredom. Joe turned around to face his blonde queen and sat on the bed, looking up longingly, his hands touching her stomach and thighs. She batted him off once but allowed him to remain there second time around. 'It's a long story, but essentially, we have no place to go. I thought we could stay here a little while?' Fiona smiled and wrapped her arms around her man's neck. Her tone was different, thick like melted chocolate and she dripped it slowly as she spoke, as though her speech and the movement of her body were reliant on one another. She moved, serpent like, under his touch.

'Well, sure,' he said happily. Then a little more quietly to Fiona, 'Don't have a whole lot of space though, Babydoll.'

'It won't be forever,' she assured him, sealing her promise with a light kiss.

That night I slept on a bed of old, stale blankets and pillows on the floor. The lights from the bar across the street flickered the room red and then blue intermittently and the smell of the sewage rose from the bathroom to where I lay. How Fiona ever found this man was beyond me. The roaches in the sink chattered and mildew on the wallpaper and ceiling threatened to crumble and drip into her hair but still she smiled like I'd never seen a woman smile. Happiness and loved emanated from her. Her body was an extension of his and, difficult though it was in the tiny space we were trapped in, when they weren't touching, her limbs reached for him. They giggled and nuzzled disregarding my presence altogether. But despite all that, I still didn't understand how someone so superficial and materialistic could have found peace at staying in such a shithole.

I don't know what time it was when I rolled over, waking to the sound. I lay stiff, unnerved by such unfamiliar surroundings. When I opened my eyes the lights outside had illuminated the room blue, casting a silhouette from across the apartment of Fiona's naked body straddling Joe. She breathed from a place deep within as the room turned red and she flicked her head back, her hair playing down her back. I watched, silently- barely even breathing, as his hands reached up to her throat, all the while she pumped herself, slowly, rhythmically on top of him. She breathed again, open-mouthed, and his hand pressed over her lips. I heard him shush her. She took his hands and placed them on her bare breasts- the outline of which was flawlessly dancing to her movement. The room was blue; her hands pressed on his chest and she growled in her throat as lifted herself onto him further. The room was red; their shadows melted together as their mouths met. Their lips slapped together, noisily and she groaned into him. I watched for what seemed like forever, the panting, the rocking of her hips, the outline of her nipple being devoured, their all-consuming desire to ravage each other until their screaming was all too evident. It was suffocating me. I breathed into my stale pillow, feeling myself getting excited. I closed my eyes trying to ignore it, but felt as though I was transported closer to them. It was suddenly smothering me. Their love-making was happening so close I could feel the heat and perspiration coming from their bodies. I opened my eyes, quickly, ensuring that they were, in fact, exactly where I left them. The room was red; his hand was between her legs. She buried her face in his neck and whimpered, pulling at his hair as her back curled, collapsing into him, bucking as she came. My face flushed. She giggled softly as Joe wrapped his arms around her, covering her in blankets trying to keep her quiet. They hugged and kissed a little more, then gave in to sleep. I, however, panicked at the thought of witnessing something that was so not meant for my eyes. I was worried by how entranced I was. I eventually dozed off to sleep, thinking of Fiona.


	3. Chapter 3

'You gonna sleep all day?' Fiona asked, gratingly, as her heels marched from the bathroom to the bundle of blankets I rested on. She stood over me, fixing her earring. I stretched and opened one eye, perturbed.

'I didn't get much sleep last night.'

'Oh?' She knew what I was implying but didn't seem fazed or embarrassed. 'Coffee?' she asked, seating herself at the table at the foot of my makeshift bed. I stumbled across to her, rubbing my eyes. I felt her gaze on me, inquisitively. 'Where're you from?' she asked, picking up her coffee cup.

'Why?' I asked suspiciously. I poured milk into my coffee, waiting for an explanation that never came. 'Jacksonville.'

'And your parents?'

I scoffed into my mug. 'What does that matter?'

She smirked back at me. 'Is your mother a witch?'

'Sure she is. Just not in the magical sense.' Fiona smiled. 'We're not close. I- I'm not really a people person.'

'Why's that?'

'They annoy the shit outta me.'

Fiona laughed in her throat. 'Can't say you're wrong, kid.'

'My aunt was a witch. She's the one that helped me with my gift and gave me books to read about the craft. She was one of the few people I could tolerate.'

'She's passed?' Fiona asked, tenderness wrapped around her words. I nodded.

'She always told me of the power, the absolute pleasure that came along with finding your Coven. She was a solitary person, like me, but she told me, when with the ones I'm supposed to be with, I'd finally feel like my true self. Ha. How wrong she was.' I sipped my coffee.

'Ya know, I never really found my place in my Coven,' Fiona mused.

'But you're the Supreme, how-'

'-The Supreme is born from a hundred year old anticipation of lineage and power. If one is destined for the Supremacy then she _will_ flower into her position when the previous Supreme passes, whether she wants to or not and regardless of how well-liked she is.'

'But I just can't imagine anyone as,' I paused trying to find the right words, 'captivating as yourself being unpopular.'

She smirked. 'They were jealous. I was beautiful and powerful and convinced I was more gifted than them. Of course, I _was_ , but I was arrogant to boot. Those bitches didn't deserve my friendship, anyhow,' she jeered. 'Having to watch my back around my own sisters was a small price to pay for feeling them eventually cower under my reign. I knew I'd prove myself eventually.' We smiled pleasantly at one another and sipped our coffee.

There was a gentle silence and I finally asked, 'Fiona, why are you so sure I didn't burn the school down?'

'Let's call it witch's intuition,' she smirked. Fiona stood and fixed her hair in the mirror, pursing her bee-stung lips. The morning light engulfed her from the window, and she radiated beauty, knowledge and power. It oozed from her pores and shone from her eyes. She was intoxicating and I drank her in, willingly becoming inebriated.

Over the next week or so, Fiona and I stayed with Joe, while I pretended to look for an apartment. I'd started my search honestly, determined to live anywhere but in the grubby, dingy flat barely big enough for one, but in the short time I'd shared with Fiona, I realised I wasn't about to voluntarily walk away from her. Sure, she was cursed with a nasty tongue and she drank her meals from whiskey bottles, but she was one of the most amazing people I'd ever met. Being around her and her power, her confidence, brought something out in me I knew I'd never find anywhere else. Her energy emanated around her, catching anyone close in its overwhelming and addictive grip. It showed with Joe and his complete adoration, and it had begun to show in me, though I was far from following her every instruction. In our lazy days of coffee drinking and laughing Fiona and I developed a strange friendship. First and foremost, she was my Supreme. Although I had denied it, considering I was without a Coven, she reassured me that wasn't how it worked. She'd told me stories of our heritage, with passion and vigour, conviction and belief in her eyes. Her hands danced as she recited stories of Salem and the responsibility we have to uphold the ancient ways of our predecessors. Pride illuminated her face and she glowed her Supremacy from her pores. She had talked of previous Supremes with boredom and banality swirling in her mouth and gentle fury in her eyes. She had spoken briefly of her youth, of travelling the world and hadn't held back on detailing her many love affairs. She had become so much more than my Supreme. In some ways I saw her as the mother I'd never really had; she was encouraging and inclusive and beautiful. In another way she seemed to be the closest friend I'd ever made. Mostly, of course, I saw her as a mentor. She embodied the very idea of what it meant to be a Supreme, although she had shaken her head when I'd told her. She guided my hands when teaching me new spells and adjusted my posture and pitch when reciting incantations. I was flying, unable to fulfil my newly awakened passion for the craft. She had brought it to life in front of my very eyes, and every tale she told, every lesson she was adamant I was to learn seemed exciting and alive because she had made it so.

Still something nagged inside me. I knew that regardless of how I saw Fiona, and how much access I had to her, she had an entire Coven that was going without her guidance. I'd tried to speak to her about it but her shoulders tensed and she batted away my words with a graceful flick of the wrist. She hadn't even spoken to her own daughter, and I felt responsible. The more I thought about it, the more I panicked. Fiona was stubborn, but even I knew this couldn't last forever, and eventually, maybe even with the help of the Council, Fiona would be dragged away from me, back to her position as the other's Supreme. Every phone call, every unexplained absence unnerved me, wondering if she'd ever come back or if she'd returned to her rightful place.

I asked her, one day, what she was planning on doing about Cordelia. I was leant back, my head resting on the edge of the bathroom sink as Fiona poured jugs of warm water over my hair, rinsing suds away. Earlier that day I'd been practising my potion-making and carelessly added too much mandrake root. There'd been a small explosion that had turned the ends of my hair a putrid green. Fiona had ran to the store to buy a box dye, laughing all the while, and then helped me dye it back to its thick brown colour. 'What do you mean?' she huffed.

'Well you're the Supreme, Fiona.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Yes, I'm well aware of that.'

'So, you're going to have to reconcile with Delia, and go back to being part of the Coven,' I said, matter-of-factly.

'Delia and I don't reconcile. We just stay out of each other's way until the issues stagnate and eventually we'll bump into each other and it'll be too messy to talk about.' I sighed at her stubbornness. 'Besides, you say _back_ like I was ever really a part of the Coven, and I'm not.'

'How can you say that?' I scoffed. 'You're the-'

'-I'm the Supreme, I know. Jesus Christ, change the record. They're not missing me, I guarantee it. I was never there. As far as they know I'm currently sat on a beach in Spain or visiting the Louvre.' She shrugged, frankly and returned her attention to my hair, indicating the conversation was over. I closed my eyes as she misjudged how much water was left in the jug and it ran over my face. 'Sorry,' she laughed, throatily. 'I've never had to dye anyone's hair before. I go to the salon, like _normal_ people,' she mocked.

'I don't like the salon. I have a thing about strangers touching my hair,' I shrugged, wiping my face with the edge of the towel that was hanging round my neck.

'A _thing._ You have so very many _things._ Have you been tested?' Though my eyes were closed I could tell she was being serious, but laughed at the ridiculousness of it anyway.

'Tested for what exactly?' I huffed, incredulously.

'I don't know. Maybe it's just kids of your generation,' she continued, pouring another jug of warm water over my hair. 'You're all too sensitised and coddled. It makes you grow up being too cautious… And unable to process gluten, for some reason.'

I snorted. 'Maybe for some people, but I wasn't coddled by any means. And just for the record, I don't have a problem with gluten,' I smiled.

'No, but you have a big damn problem with your potion ingredients. This isn't _Charmed;_ there are no fire breathing warlocks after you. There's really no reason to rush and get it wrong, kid. You need to pace yourself, you know. Take in what it is you're doing.'

'I guess I was just eager to-'

'-Just thank the lord it was only your hair that got singed, and not your pretty face,' she smirked, taking my chin in her warm, wet fingers and tilting my head up slightly.

'Pft, yeah right,' I mumbled, closing my eyes as another jug of warm water devoured my skull.

'Ah, let me guess,' she smiled purposely through her tone. 'You think you're ugly? Poor insecure little girl, damning God for giving her big blue eyes and symmetrical features?' She snorted her laughter. 'Whatever happened to women just accepting the fact they were beautiful? It's not an attractive feature, having to fight someone to make them believe they're good-looking.' She gently and very quickly grazed my cheek with her finger, lovingly.

'I think I'm plain,' I said, fighting the urge to bite the line she had put out.

She shrugged, 'Honesty's better than modesty. I can't stand modest people- it makes them look flaky. But I know that's what you truly believe.' I nodded, mildly, accepting her words as truths. 'But you've gotta accept the fact that other people will think differently. And as much as it physically pains me to reiterate tired, overused clichés, beauty _is_ in the eye of the beholder, kid. And this beholder happens to know you're anything but plain.' I opened my eyes and watched Fiona's concentrated stare at my hair as she ran her fingers through the dark wet strands. 'I think you're done.' She stepped away and handed me a mirror. I held it in my hand, too shy to look directly at the face Fiona Goode had complimented. Fiona looked at me, her hand on her hip, waiting. 'Well, what do you think? Not too bad a job, if I say so myself.'

'It's great,' I whispered, not taking my eyes from her. 'Thank you.'

'You're welcome,' she blinked, languidly, leaning against the doorframe, her arms folding, loosely. 'Want a drink?' She shuffled into the kitchen and I followed the sound of clinking glasses. She poured two bourbons and sat at the table, lighting a cigarette. 'Sit down, have a drink,' she smiled, puffs of smoke leaving her swollen lips with every word. She licked them, absent-mindedly.

'You know I'm under-aged, right?'

She shrugged, emphatically. 'I won't tell if you won't.' Our glasses chimed delicately as they touched in the air. I took a sip then rubbed the towel through my dripping hair.

'I'm sorry there's no hairdryer,' Fiona said, looking around at the dump surrounding her with disappointed eyes. 'I'm sorry there's no nothing here. I swear this man lives in the dark ages.'

I smiled. 'Where did you and Joe meet?' I asked, sitting back in my chair and bringing the glass to my lips.

'At a bar. Nowhere special,' she huffed. 'But it didn't matter. I knew there was something different in him, in his eyes.' Her gaze was narrow and her brow furrowed as she relived the moment Joe had sauntered, brazenly towards her. 'Of course, he had known me many years before I ever laid eyes on him.' She smiled to herself and then looked back at me, aware. For a moment I imagined that smile was for me, and felt the warmth of the desire -or the bourbon- spread through my stomach.

Fiona topped us up and we laughed and danced for hours. Joe never came home, which was usual, according to Fiona, and so she played soft jazz records and danced seductively through swirls of smoke. She took her hand in mine and span me around in the tiny kitchenette, laughing at my poor footing. She held me close, wrapping her hands innocently around my waist and I pulled back in shame at the pleasure I felt, still too sober to allow myself to bask in her touch. I blew up inside with contentment watching her break into fits of drunken laughter so hard there were tears in her eyes and her cheeks blushed with happiness. It was near midnight when we collapsed, drunkenly giggling on the bed. I watched the change in her face as it went from carefree to preoccupied. Her brow furrowed and again her eyes glassed with tears but this time I didn't share the same feeling of contentment. She drank down the last of her bourbon and set the glass down on the bedside table, her hands pressing against one another as she lay back on the pillows. 'This is how Delia and I should've been,' she mused. 'I'd never imagined having a child. To be so challenged every day by one so innocent, it's so difficult. I don't know how other mothers do it,' she sighed, flicking her blonde hair from her face.

'Other mothers aren't the Supreme,' I whispered.

'I've never been able to find a common ground with Delia,' she continued, ignoring what I'd said. 'And yet I'm here, able to be this way with you. It seems so easy.' She turned to face me. 'When we met outside the house that day, I remember feeling something odd.'

'There was an overwhelming rapport because of my amazing conversational skills,' I laughed drunkenly.

'No,' she dismissed, huffing. 'I sensed something. As though there was another being living inside you. As though you were two people-'

'-The person I am and the person the world wants me to be.' I sighed.

'And I recognised it.'

'Because you've felt that way too.'

She smiled and subtly wiped a tear, hanging her head slightly. The room flashed behind her from red to blue. 'This life I've carved out for myself is so goddamned lonely. All these years I thought I was protecting myself when really I was running away. Away from the Coven, away from Cordelia, away from anyone who ever loved me. Joe's the only man I've truly opened myself up to and I don't even know if what I feel when I'm with him is love.'

'It sure as hell looks that way,' I smirked, shuffling down the bed and laying my spinning head on Joe's pillow. She moved the hair from my face and slid down to meet me, her eyes inches from my face. She sighed and her warm breath gently blew at my eyelashes.

'Is it strange how open I am with you?'

'Why would it be strange?' I slurred, watching her eyelids slowly close.

'Because I'm old enough to be your grandmother,' she laughed, taking hold of my hand and pressing it between her pillow and her cheek.

'I don't really see you in that way,' I breathed slowly, into the darkness. I gently stroked her cheek with my thumb, unable to sit still under her touch.

'How do you see me?' she whispered, her eyes still closed. I looked at her, taking in her beauty, her innocence, her staggering magical strength and her limited emotional one. I silently inched my head closer to her so our noses almost touched, and inhaled her breath. Her lips were parted slightly, but pursed, temptingly. I pressed my mouth against hers, our lips meeting for only a second. Her face relaxed into a soft simper as I pulled away and she settled her head further into my hand. How she didn't feel it shaking beneath her cheek I'll never know. Her breathing was deep as she slept, but a tear rolled from her cheek to my hand. I spent what felt like hours watching the room turn from blue to red until the weight of the bourbon finally devoured my energy. And I slept inches from the woman I'd begun dreaming about, my fingers tangled in her hair, my palm a pillow for her cheek.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been nine days since the Supreme had returned to her ravaged Academy, and just as long since she'd had any contact with the Coven. I'd allowed my desire to be spoiled and moulded by Fiona to prevent me from attempting to fix what I'd essentially destroyed. I returned to the hotel and nervously paced outside the room, unsure what to expect or what to say. I could feel the other girl's dislike from me through the door, so what weight were they going to give my words? Cordelia opened the door, rapidly. 'Will you just come inside already? Your anxiety's singing in my head.'

'No, actually,' I said, taking her hand. 'Can we speak out here? I don't wanna see the others.'

Cordelia sighed. 'You're being silly.' She stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind her, folding her arms. 'There's no reason to avoid them.'

'I'm not avoiding them, I just don't want to argue right now.'

'Fine. What's going on?'

'You have to see Fiona.'

'I've nothing to say to her,' Delia spat, immediately.

'I'm not playing piggy in the middle between you two. I just came to say that I'm sorry for whatever hand I had in this and that it's between you two now. You should both just grow up and do what's best for the Coven.' Delia eyed me with a decidedly displeased stare and pursed her lips. 'It isn't fair that everyone should miss out on having the protection of their Supreme because she spat her milk out and embarrassed you.'

'This has nothing to do with you, Acantha. I- I appreciate you trying to fix this but even if I did go talk to her it wouldn't change anything. You- you don't know my mother,' she sighed.

'She said she felt there was never any common ground between the two of you. She regrets that, Delia. She knows she's wrong but doesn't want to lose face. She knows eventually you're going to need her for something long before she'll admit she needs anything from you.'

'She said that to you?'

I shrugged. 'She said some of it, yeah. The rest she projected, I guess.' Delia looked at the ground. 'I can't deal with feeling like I came in from nowhere and stole the queen of the witches from everyone- especially her own daughter.'

'No, sweetheart, that's not what it is. Fiona Goode does exactly what Fiona Goode wants to do and she always has. If she wanted to be with the Coven she would be here. It's not your doing. She just finds ways to keep me out of her way for a while and she can be a little dramatic.' She rolled her eyes.

'Will you talk to her?'

'I don't know. I'll think about it.'

'Thanks,' I said, breathing a little easier.

'How are you?' Delia asked, tucking her hair behind her ear.

'I'm fine.' I blinked for a moment into the silence that was building around us.

'Look, I hope you know that you're still part of this Coven.'

'Yeah, as far as the law states.'

'No, as far as I state.' She sighed. 'I'm sorry that I maybe didn't believe you or defend you as readily as I would've the other girls. It was wrong of me to think, even for an instance, that you would have done something like that, but in my defence you haven't been all that game for playing ball with us since you arrived. Maybe it clouded my judgement, but it's something we need to address if you decide to return, regardless.'

'I can't come back, Delia.' I paused, shuffling my feet. 'I never felt it. You know, the instant bond and feeling of belonging I've heard so much about from other witches. The feeling of being able to be free and like-minded and all the other bullshit- it wasn't there. Those girls hate me, and fair enough. I don't care. I just don't want to feel censored or restricted because I'm being judged. I don't want to be instantly accused of arson because I didn't want to spend an evening giving them pedicures and curling my hair. It's just not going to work. It never felt like home to me.'

'I'll talk to them, Acantha. They're clique-y. They can be bitchy towards the newbies, you know, setting their ground, marking their territory-'

'-I'm not interested in any of that, Delia. There'll always be something that makes people standoffish around me. There always has been. Queenie is a human voodoo doll and Nan can hear the thoughts of everyone in a two block radius, yet I'm the one left feeling like a weirdo because they can accept all those strange things about one another but they can't accept me.' I shrugged.

'I'm sor-'

'Don't be. It isn't your fault. Please just think about talking to Fiona, ok?' I turned and walked away, renewed with a sense of pride. I couldn't bear the thought of being trapped back in their torturous whispers and judgements and was glad I'd finally explained myself to Cordelia, even if it did hurt her feelings.

I opened the door to the apartment to be greeted by a rogue stocking and a man's shoe. I watched, pleasantly entertained, as Fiona and Joe scrambled about the bed, hurriedly pulling garments back over exposed flesh and smoothing down hair. 'The one time you leave the apartment and you're gone for twenty minutes,' Fiona panted, wiping the smudged lipstick from around her mouth. 'That's barely enough time for foreplay.' She turned on the bed, angling her open zipper to Joe, who obediently closed it, kissing the nape of her neck. I laughed and threw the stocking at her.

'Twenty minutes of foreplay at your ripe ages?' I joked, taking a bottle from the fridge and sitting at the table.

Fiona laughed. 'I'm the most powerful witch currently in existence and he's technically dead. Twenty minutes _minimum_ , isn't it, baby?' she smirked, winking at her lover as he watched her slowly pulling the stocking up to her thigh.

'Well, did you get anywhere?' I asked casually, taking a mouthful of water.

'What, with you here?'

'Doesn't usually stop you,' I muttered, raising my eyebrows and smiling. From the way they sat on the bed I could only see Joe's expression as he met Fiona's eyes with a look of quiet shock. She giggled at him and pressed her hand on his thigh.

'Anyway,' she said purposefully, standing and walking towards me. She lit a cigarette and flattened her dress as she walked. 'Where've you been?'

'Nowhere. Just- just for a walk.'

'Well next time I suggest you take a longer walk,' she said, jesting.

'Duly noted.'

'I'm going to take a shower,' Joe crooned into Fiona's ear as he passed her. She smiled up to his back as he turned and went into the bathroom. She waited until he closed the door before melting into the goosebumps on her neck and laughing. She exhaled deeply, her eyes wide.

'I've never known anything like it,' she mused, playfully. 'I just want him all the time.' Her hands covered her glowing cheeks. 'Have you ever had that with a man?'

'I've never had anything with a man,' I confessed, lighting up a cigarette. Fiona looked at me aghast from across the table.

'You've never…' She raised one eyebrow and lowered her head. 'You've never had sex?'

I smiled, weirdly satisfied at being able to surprise her. '…With a man,' I finished.

'Oh. Oh Jesus Christ, are you gay?' I laughed and shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly.

'I don't know about that. Maybe. I guess.'

'I didn't know that. What's it like with a woman?' Her eyes lit up as she asked and leaned into the question, resting her elbows on the table.

'God, I don't know. It's only good when you're with someone who does what _he_ does to you,' I smiled pointing at the bathroom door. 'Regardless of gender.'

'How many women have you slept with?'

'A few,' I answered shyly. 'I take it you've never been with a woman?'

Fiona leant back in her chair and blew a neat curl of smoke from her still smudged lips. 'No, I was too busy with the boys to ever get round to the women. Besides, it wasn't so readily accepted in my days. But tell me. I want to hear what it's like.' I stood to take my coat off and paced for a moment, smirking. I shuffled my backside onto the edge of the table.

'It's…' I searched for the words. 'It's… soft and… malleable.'

'Malleable?' Her face furrowed.

'Yeah. Everywhere you touch is warm and curved, smooth. There's nothing more rousing than a woman's naked body. It just cries out for your open mouth over every inch. It's an all-consuming experience, you know. You feel cared for and safe and gentle but at the same time it's dangerous and exciting. Finger nails and high heels. Stockings,' I smiled. She rolled her eyes, grinning softly. 'Lipstick. Lingerie. Perfumes. Fistfuls of hair. Breasts, for god sake. There's just something naturally erotic about women. Don't you find that?' Fiona looked up at me with her pussycat eyes and wry smile, completely in control of everything that was happening around her, despite not saying a word.

'I guess I do,' she whispered, deeply, and I exhaled, squeezing my thighs together slightly, attempting to quell the burning she'd caused with just a few choice words and those goddamn eyes. The bathroom door flung open and Joe reappeared in front of a wall of steam, towel wrapped around his waist. Fiona's eyes pulled away and she smiled at Joe awkwardly. I sighed and jumped off the table, returning to my seat.

Later that evening Fiona and I lay on the bed drinking whiskey and listening as Joe made beautifully coagulated music, dripping in tone and emotion. There was something palpable in the air. The jazz and the alcohol only added to the suffocating rhapsody that seemed to entangle me. I tried to ignore it and told myself it was only me that felt this way, but the more I glanced at her glowing in the alternating neon lights, losing herself in the music and her drink, the more I wanted to throw down my glass and run my fingers over her thighs. I saw the way her eyes lovingly adorned Joe's face and hated the jealousy I felt. I found myself hoping Cordelia would soon pull her mother away from me before I became completely obsessed with her.

Fiona lolled her head in my direction, her eyes burning a hole in my cheek, but I refused to look. I pretended to be lost in the music. She softly tapped my hand but pulled it away quickly. I turned my head. 'You kissed me,' she whispered, under the music. My eyes darted and eventually narrowed, questioning.

'What?'

'You kissed me,' she reiterated. Her face was straight but pleasant, difficult to read.

'So?' I eventually managed, instantly disappointed with my childish rhetoric. Her feet graced one another as she rubbed one up the length of her calf, stretching and sliding down the bed slightly.

'Why'd you do it?' she smiled, teasingly.

'Because I wanted to.' Her eyes flickered up to Joe who was still lost in his music, playing his song as though his life depended on it.

'Were you trying to seduce me?' she purred languidly, rolling onto her stomach, smiling. Her eyes held mine the whole time.

'Of course not,' I said nervously. I glanced at Joe and then back to the striking eyes of the woman laying before me. She sniggered.

'Are you sure?' Fiona rested her fingers lightly on my hand, tracing my fingers hypnotically. 'You know what I think, my pretty little lesbo?' She enunciated viciously and it stung. 'I think you want to suck me into this little fantasy of yours. Me and you.' Her eyes gazed longingly and I tried to steady my breathing. I returned her lustful glances but watched cautiously behind her at the blurry figure caressing his saxophone.

'And you know what I think? I think you're drunk, Fiona,' I breathed.

She gently chuckled to herself and rested her chin in her hands. Her ankles crossed in the air behind her and she kicked them, playfully, smiling. 'Yeah, maybe,' she admitted, smiling. 'Tell me again what it was like.'

'What what was like?'

'Sex with women,' she whispered, her eyes huge in the half light. 'What was it you said? Smooth and curved. Safe but exciting. Wet, as well, I'd bet,' she smirked, gliding a finger down my arm. 'Come on, don't be boring, Acantha. Tell me.' I licked my lips and swallowed, heart rate rising to an almost unbearable pace. Joe finished his song and I held Fiona's eye contact the length on the final note he played. I saw the figure turn and I looked up at him smiling. Fiona turned her head behind her. 'That was beautiful, darling,' she mused.

'It really was,' I echoed.

'Thank you, ladies. I wrote that for someone special,' he reached over, smiling, and took hold of Fiona's foot, kissing the sole.

'Pour moi?' she joked, gasping in simulated shock. They laughed and she rolled over, shuffling to the bottom of the bed towards his stool. She kissed him briefly as she stood and fetched the open bottle of whiskey from the table. She filled her own glass and then filled Joe's as he tabbed the keys of his instrument, absentmindedly. She came towards me and took the glass from my hand, running her fingers alongside my own, filling it with more rich, dark alcohol. She passed the glass back, looking in my eyes, intensely. She put the bottle down and retook her position on the bed. 'Play me something else, Joe,' she demanded, playfully.

'Anything for you, Babydoll.' He tapped the keys a couple more times before bringing the instrument to his lips. Fiona closed her eyes, breathing in the first few drawn out notes of the song, moving her neck and shoulders weakly with the music.

'I love this one,' she whispered to me and I felt as though she'd just told me a secret.

'Me too,' I replied, watching her dress come down at the shoulder as she swayed.


	5. Chapter 5

An hour later the music had come to a quiet end and I'd fallen into that place between sleep and reality. Fiona took the glass from my hand and I woke, startled.

'It's just me,' she whispered. I looked around me and realised the couple were waiting to go to bed. I sat up and rubbed my eyes.

'Sorry, I'll go,' I said, slowly standing. I shuffled past Joe who tipped an imaginary hat at me, courteously, on his way to the bed. Fiona followed closely behind me, her hands briefly holding my waist as I stumbled. I fell into my makeshift bed and she knelt down beside me, gently sweeping the hair from my face. I gazed up at her, her eyes glowing with the light from the window. I took her hand and kissed the palm softly. 'Goodnight, Fiona.' She reached up and delicately traced my lips with her thumb, her eyes seemingly fascinated. Then she pulled slightly on my bottom lip causing my mouth to fall open. She leant in, her eyes open and on mine the whole time, and touched her lips against mine, before tracing my lips once more, this time with her tongue. My stomach tensed but I tried not to move as she remained there, our lips not quite touching.

'Tonight it's all for you,' she whispered into my mouth. Her lips grazed mine as she spoke. 'Watch me,' she almost mouthed she spoke so quietly. She stood and smiled at me, coyly. 'Goodnight, kid.'

She sauntered back over to the bed, knowing I was watching every movement with my mouth still hanging open in shock and confusion. She sprawled across the bed, reaching over to Joe like a lion, stretching in the sun. Her paws reached the bottom of his back and he pulled his shirt off and kicked off his shoes. 'Poor girl's exhausted. She's fast asleep,' Fiona whispered. 'Hey, you know, if you wanted to we could go for round two? How about that?' she smirked. He turned on the bed and took her face in his hands.

'Is that what you want, baby?' he smiled, too drunk and too under Fiona's spell to protest. She nodded mildly, locking her eyes on him. He grabbed a fistful of Fiona's hair and yanked her head back, coaxing a yelp from her lips. 'Is that what you want?' he asked again, this time turning his body and pressing his face closer to hers.

'Yes,' Fiona whined, his grip tightening.

'Tell me,' he whispered.

'I- I want you to fuck me,' she whimpered.

I felt the heat start in the depths of my stomach, but by now it had flushed my cheeks and burned ceaselessly between my thighs. I tried to stop my increasing breath from sounding, but it was futile. It was as though Fiona was speaking directly to me and just the idea made me damp and ache for her touch. I lay motionless in the dark, silently watching as their tongues caressed one another and their breath rose with excitement. Fiona sat up, pulling her lover's face in closer with both hands. 'I wanna go on top,' she whispered though kisses.

'You always do,' Joe smirked, sitting back against the headboard. I heard Fiona unzip Joe's pants and watched, wide-eyed, as she began moving her hands over him, gently singing her pleasures in delicate groans of approval. He hiked up her dress to her waist as she straddled him, revealing her stockings. Joe's hands searched for her underwear and cheekily tapped her ass with the palm of his hand when he realised she wasn't wearing any.

'Do it again,' she whispered. He obliged, taking his hand to her ass again, this time with a little more force. I clenched my stomach and thighs every time the slap stung through the air and she closed her eyes and rocked herself against the pain. Soon she was grunting hard against the force of his hand, each time her head jerked forwards towards his face, her mouth open and her eyes closed, until she was on all fours over him, her chin on his shoulder, whining into his ear. 'Keep going,' she managed through jagged breath. He spanked her again, this time she turned her face in my direction and brought two fingers up to her mouth. Her eyes barely blinked as she slipped them in her mouth and sucked. I watched with baited breath, feeling her eyes burning through me, as she took the now shiny fingers down to between her legs. I couldn't see that low down because of the shadow she casted, but I saw in her face everything she was doing. 'Keep going,' she whispered again. Her face changed as she inserted her fingers, her body writhed slightly and her eyebrows peaked. I was suffocated in her. Joe hit her ass again and she yelped, the force rocking her body forward causing her fingers to move deeper inside of her. Her open mouth beckoned me. She panted as she moved her hips rhythmically, her hand pressing hard against her. Her hurried motions between her thighs caught Joe's attention.

'You really like it?' he whispered in her ear. She nodded, but didn't take her eyes off me. 'Let's do it properly then.' Joe lifted Fiona's hips off him and stood beside the bed. She looked up at him breathless and confused.

'What're you doing?' she hissed. 'I was so close, goddamn it.'

'Come here,' he said, kicking off his trousers. Fiona crawled across the bed to him, her sore red ass teasing me. 'Turn around.' Fiona did as she was told, until Joe had bent her over the bed, her eyes facing me once again. She glared fiercely at me until her gaze was broken by the sheer force of Joe's hand against her ass. She grunted and gripped the bedding tightly, breathing through gritted teeth. After a moment her eyes had found me again. This time her expression conveyed a weakness, a desire. She had submitted and was relishing in it. He hit her again. Her growl was longer and with more heat; heat that melted me; heat that ravaged me. I felt my hand slowly slide down my body, unable to resist the ache between my legs that longed for relief, and hoped that Joe was too preoccupied with the woman in his arms to look up and notice my staring. He spat into his hand and caressed himself, guiding his stiffness into Fiona. She thundered with such passion and angst I nearly came right then and there. She heaved backwards and forwards, skin slapping together viciously as she called out the closer she got to release. I groaned, losing myself in my overwhelming need to come whilst watching Fiona Goode being fucked, helplessly. Joe kicked her legs further apart and she lost her footing, collapsing on the bed. He spanked her once more before pulling her head back by her tangled blonde hair with a powerful force. Her breathing was laboured and mirrored sobs of both pleasure and pain. Her eyes wide and full of fear and thrill, Joe held her there, unknowingly now assisting in our intense rendezvous. She begged for me silently, and every plea I could hear with greater clarity than the heart that thudded in my chest. Each one felt like her mouth was over me. 'Are you gonna come for me?' Joe grunted in Fiona's ear as he continually pounded his hips against her red backside. She winced, making the most tangible, touchable, alive sound I've ever heard leave anyone's lips, and I caught my breath, nearing orgasm.

'Yes,' she tried to whisper. Her voice had failed her but her expression explained everything. Joe pushed his face roughly against her cheek, whimpering. 'I'm gonna come for _you_ ,' she sang to me, every word like liquid metal, dripping in sweet moans. Her eyes narrowed as she reached orgasm, never once flitting from my face. I wasn't sure if she could see me properly, hidden in the glowing half-light at the other side of the room, but my eyebrows peaked as I came, eyes momentarily filling with tears at the sheer intensity. Joe continued bucking inside his woman, but her squealing was for me, I knew it. He came and finally released Fiona's hair, her head lolling slightly, as she panted and licked her lips. Her hold of the bedsheets loosened and her body slowly relaxed as he pulled out of her.

'You're an angel,' Joe said, finally. 'A filthy, debauched little angel.' She smiled at him absent-mindedly, and pulled herself up back onto the bed, reaching for her cigarette. She panted as she lit one.

'That was intense,' she heaved, fixing her hair.

'That was _loud_ ,' Joe mused. 'She must've heard that, surely.' He nodded his head in my direction.

'Maybe,' Fiona whispered, blowing a cloud of smoke into the blue air above her. She glanced over at me and I stared longingly back up at her blushed cheeks, smiling. 'She's still asleep. Didn't hear a thing,' she placated, and allowed her lover to cradle her as they smoked.


	6. Chapter 6

'Well isn't this snug?' Myrtle Snow's voice rasped at a grating pitch though the sun bleached room. I turned to see the red head blow a garnish of smoke that hovered around her head like a momentary halo. 'A slumber party, is it?' she continued, dragging a fuchsia gloved finger across the mantelpiece, inspecting for dust. She blew at it as though it was a candle on a cake and groaned, melodramatically, her head hanging backwards in disgust. 'Fiona, dear, you really must have a word with the staff. The cleaner is doing an abominable job. Simply awful.' Fiona rolled over, pulling the sheets over her as she sat up, sighing.

'Myrtle,' she acknowledged, reaching for her cigarettes and lighting one with nothing other than her fiery stare. 'Are members of The Council allowed to just let themselves into other people's apartments?'

'Do you mean morally or legally, my dear? Although I suppose under the circumstances, neither are particularly discernible.'

'And what circumstances are those?' Fiona chimed.

'Bleak ones, unfortunately, Fiona. It seems justice is about to be served, however bittersweet it might appear to you at first, considering your current _situation_ ,' Myrtle rolled her eyes around the room, noting first, the shirtless man sleeping beside Fiona, and then myself, wide-eyed under the sheets at the other side of the room.

'What the hell are you talking about, you rambling old hippie?' Fiona spat.

Myrtle smirked before turning abruptly towards me. 'Acantha Starling, you have been found guilty of committing arson with the intent of harming your entire Coven. I hereby sentence you to death by burning.'

It rolled from her tongue with almost rehearsed precision and an unwavering tone of indifference, but hammered at me like a falling building. My stomach dropped. I breathed, gasping, wordless, in horror. My eyes immediately found Fiona's who was a perfect mixture of shock and anger. I begged her with my eyes, _protect me, save me, please_ , but my mouth did nothing but remain open, trying to maintain what little air I had left inside my lungs. A thousand questions flitted through my mind, but none stayed long enough for me to hold onto them, to ask them. Myrtle smoked and waved her hand as though she had just performed her most astounding magic trick yet, and with such ease. Fiona threw the bed sheets off, standing with a power and aggression that made the pictures that hung on the walls shake around us. She flew in Myrtle's direction.

'What the hell's this about, Myrtle? Huh? You know Acantha didn't have anything to do with that fire.' It was evident that the blonde was trying to keep her cool under Myrtle's cold, hard gaze. She breathed through gritted teeth.

'On the contrary, Fiona. We have a witness,' Myrtle sang. 'A very reliable one.'

'That's impossible,' I exasperated. 'What witness?' I stood up, walking towards Fiona, as she ran her hand through her hair, inhaling her cigarette deeply, glaring all the while at Myrtle's statuesque position and looking small in her barefooted vulnerability.

'Shh, kid, don't say anything,' she snapped, waving her hands motioning me to be quiet. She turned to Myrtle. 'What witness, Myr? Who? I want to meet the lying little bitch,' Fiona's tone rose to a shout. 'I'm not letting you, or anyone else for that matter, accuse a member of my Coven of such a ridiculous and heinous crime, Myrtle Snow. I'm not having it!' she screamed, waking Joe. Myrtle's eyes flashed over to the shirtless man as he rolled over, puzzled.

'What's going on, Babydoll?' he croaked.

'I'll tell you what's going on,' Fiona replied but directed it solely at Myrtle's stoic face. 'You're through, Myrtle. I'll make sure you're the one burning on that pyre, if it's the last thing I do,' she barked.

'I thought you might react this way, Fiona. What with the indisputable affection you must have developed for the girl over these past couple of weeks. But I think it prudent to revaluate the situation for your own sake. We don't want The Supreme's judgement to start to come into question, do we?'

'I hope for _your_ own sake you're not threatening me, Myrtle. I will crush you,' Fiona promised, eyes glaring like a cat's in car headlights.

'Now come, dear, don't you think if you could crush me you would have done so by now? Really, I'm actually rather disappointed by what little effort you've assigned to fill your empty promises of sending me to the flame all these years.' Myrtle rolled her eyes. 'Besides, that's all by the by. I know better than to _threaten_ The Supreme… especially without solid evidence. Which is why I have some. She's a darling girl, really. I think you'd like her if she weren't about to condemn your little _protégé_ to the stake.' Myrtle's eyes washed over me with a look I couldn't quite read beneath her pussycat framed glasses. 'Maybe you've heard of her?' she asked, turning her attention back to Fiona. 'Marie Laveau?'

Fiona brought her hand to her chest. 'The Voodoo Queen?' she gasped, her lip curling in contempt.

'Did someone say Voodoo Queen?' a voice sang from the bathroom and suddenly the door swung open. Marie Laveau smiled, twistedly, her hands on her hips and her long braided hair wrapping her waist.

'Really Myrtle, you've outdone yourself. Have you lost your goddamn mind?' Fiona shrieked. 'You know you can't take the word of a Voodoo Queen; they've been trying to eradicate witches since time began!'

'We're not in a position of being able to turn away willing witnesses at this stage, Fiona. Even if they are Voodoo.'

'The Council will never allow this,' Fiona huffed. ' _I_ won't allow it, goddamn it! I am your Supreme, Myrtle Snow, and you will treat me as such. Now you take this Voodoo demon and your own sweet little backside out of this apartment right this second, or I'll summon the rest of The Council here myself and have you done for treason against the entire goddamn Coven!' Fiona blazed with sheer rage.

'Whew, you weren't exaggerating, Myrtle. She is cocky. My my, what a big head you've got, Fiona Goode,' Marie laughed, sauntering passed me toward the middle of the room. She met Fiona's gaze.

'And you,' Fiona composed herself. 'You don't mind breaking the pact?'

'Pact,' Marie scoffed. 'What pact? I wasn't getting anything out of that pact other than not having to look at your hideous face. But this way I at least get to ensure that the most dangerous of your kind- and the most mentally unstable- are not gonna cause me and mine any problems.' Marie looked back at me over her shoulder.

'But I didn't do it,' I pleaded, walking toward the magical face-off happening in Joe's living area. 'You know I didn't do it. Why are you lying?' Fiona cut me off again with the wave of her hand.

'That's where you're wrong, Marie. You've just opened yourself up to whole world of problems, let me make that clear.'

'Oh, I am quaking.' Marie laughed, flicking her long hair over shoulder. Fiona looked at the floor with forlorn, beaten eyes. I'd never been so terrified in my life. I felt my eyes fill with tears, already mourning myself. I felt doomed.

'Delia will never forgive you,' Fiona spoke again, trying one last attempt to get through to Myrtle.

'Oh, darling, of course she will. When she sees why this had to be done, for _her_ protection. And for the Coven. I've always told her I'd do whatever it took to ensure she was safe. She knows that.' She'd hit a nerve and watched, pleased with the lexical slap across Fiona's face.

'I will be the one to ensure Delia's safety. I will do what it takes to stop this utter madness.'

'Hm,' Myrtle smiled softly. 'Well, that's that then. I'll be seeing you at six for the burning,' she shrugged nonchalantly. Her eyes graced Joe, who stood overlooking the meeting, and as she pushed passed Fiona on her way to the door she whispered, emphatically, 'Babydoll.' Marie cackled behind her.

'Oh I love the smell of burnt witch in the evening,' Marie clapped her hands together, smiling and the pair left through the door.

Fiona's hand crashed over her open mouth, eyes filling with angry tears. I ran my fingers through my hair and sat at the table, trying to maintain my breathing. Joe clamoured over the bed and wrapped his arms around Fiona's waist, pressing his nose into the nape of her neck. 'Goddamn it,' she hissed, pulling from his caress. 'Don't touch me.' She wiped the tears from her cheeks. 'Don't touch me,' she whispered again, pacing. 'I need to think.' The room was silent for minutes, filled only by the ragged breathing of panicked souls and inhales on cigarettes. Finally Fiona spoke. 'You didn't do it, did you?' she grabbed and pulled at my arm, erratically, something sadistic and sinister in her breaking voice. I yanked my arm free of her grasp and scowled at her.

'Of course I didn't- I already told you I didn't. She's lying,' I sighed.

'Okay… I know, I'm sorry,' she nodded, seating herself next to me. 'I can't believe she brought that Voodoo bitch here,' Fiona sniped, lighting up a cigarette. 'I'm not going to let her get away with this. Get dressed.' She jumped up, smoothing out her nightgown and heading towards the dress that remained in a pile on the floor.

'Is there anything I can do, baby?' Joe queried, a strange paternal protection in his eyes.

'No,' Fiona dismissed. He looked down, hurt. 'Yes,' she sighed in response to his pout. 'Just stay here, and let me know if she comes back.'

'Where're you going?' he asked, watching as she pulled on her black Dolce dress and ran her fingers through her hair.

'Acantha and I are paying my daughter a visit. Are you ready?' she motioned me towards the door. I grabbed my coat and slipped my shoes on, trying to hide the persistent nausea. I must've looked as terrified as I felt. Fiona rested her hands on my shoulders, walking behind me, like a shadow, as we exited the apartment. 'Nothing's going to happen,' she whispered, but I detected apprehension in her voice. 'I won't let it.' Her fingers squeezed my shoulders. I suppose she had wanted it to convey a sense of certainty, but I felt her hesitation and I suddenly saw Fiona Goode in an earthly light, as though she was shying and deteriorating in front of my very eyes. Withering away. How I longed to feel her radiating power and confidence bouncing off my doubtful, suffering skin. How I needed her fearlessness now.

The journey to the hotel seemed to take forever. I was half expecting to glance at the clock and feel late for my own funeral. It's a strange thing to count down, with some accuracy, the remainder of your life. It's not that I was particularly afraid of death; after all, being made aware of the magic and power in this world, in this life, made me certain of possibilities for something other than ongoing, eternal blackness for the afterlife. But I was afraid of having something taken from me, out of my hands. I was afraid of not being in control of my own destiny and mortality. Even in those early minutes of hearing the news, I had entertained the idea of suicide; of taking away their possibility of satisfaction. But I soon realised that I would only be playing into and confirming their suspicions and doubts about me. And I would not die having them think me guilty. I twiddled my thumbs, nervously as the BMW made its way, at what seemed like a snail's pace, to the hotel across town. Fiona sighed and covered my hand with her own, ceasing the jitter. 'You're driving me crazy.'

'Well, I'm sorry, but I've just been condemned to death, so forgive me if I'm a little on edge,' I snipped.

'I'm sorting it, Acantha, but Jesus Christ, you have to pull yourself together.'

'Sorting it? How on earth is talking to Delia going to fix anything? I bet she was the one who suggested this whole thing to Myrtle to begin with. She'd love to see me burn,' I scowled.

'Watch your tongue. Don't badmouth my daughter like that. She would lay down and die for any one of her girls-'

'-Maybe so, but I'm not one of _her_ girls. I'm the girl who told her to stick her Coven where the sun doesn't shine. I'm the one that ran away. She has no reason whatsoever to help me. And even if she did there'd be nothing she could do.'

'Goddamn it, stop your whining!' Fiona yelled, jerking her hand away. 'Stop being so defeatist and stand up for yourself. There have been worse things to have happened in the world. Shit.' She lit a cigarette and crossed her legs. I sighed.

'I'm scared,' I mewled. Fiona bowed her head breathing deeply.

'I know,' she whispered tenderly, sincere. 'But don't show _them_ you're scared. Maintain an air of power and dignity. Feign control and strength, and just maybe you'll find a little.' She smiled at me sadly, and I bowed under her tremendous gaze. I can't be sure, and I would never say it with total certainty, but for a minute I thought Fiona loved me. I thought I'd seen it in her eyes. But, of course, it could all be easily explained away as the creation of an all-but-dead woman, clutching for affection in her final hours. I cried in her arms until we arrived at the hotel a couple of minutes later. Fiona had allowed me to, but I felt her embrace stiffen, clearly uncomfortable with such brazen emotion.

Fiona walked into the hotel room unannounced. Cordelia met her worried expression and instantly softened her initially angry one. 'What is it?' she said, knowing immediately something was wrong.

'Have you seen any of that crazy old aunt of yours?' Fiona asked, sitting on the arm of the sofa.

'Myrtle? No, why?' Cordelia's eyes fluttered between myself and Fiona, concern building in her knitted brow. I tried to match Fiona's confident, cool gaze, but only obvious panic spread across my face.

'So you haven't heard? Acantha, here, has been officially sentenced to _death,_ ' Fiona scoffed, almost laughing in disbelief as she shook her head. Delia gasped, bringing her hands over her face. 'Oh, that's not the half of it,' Fiona continued. 'In order to make this possible, your sweet, eccentric old Auntie Myrtle brought her supposed witness over to my apartment.'

'Witness? W-witness to wha-,' Delia stuttered with what appeared to be genuine shock across her face. I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. Perhaps Delia wasn't the demon I'd created in my head.

'It's Marie Laveau.'

'What? No, that's impossible. It's- it's _insane_. Myrtle would never break the pact.' Her words seemed to defend Myrtle, but her tone was questioning and unsure, riddled with doubt.

'Yes, Delia, she would. I had the Voodoo Queen over for breakfast, and it did not go well.' Fiona's glare was deadpan and heavy in truths Delia did not want to hear.

She took a moment, breathing in everything that had been said. 'How long do you have?' she asked, turning towards me, taking my hands in hers.

'Match strikes at 6pm,' Fiona answered for me. 'I don't know what's going on in that kooky orange head of hers, but if I have to, Delia, I will destroy her.'

Cordelia sighed, swallowing down tears. 'If I have to, Mother, I will help you.' Fiona nodded, mildly.

'She's innocent, I swear it,' Fiona muttered, bringing her hand to my cheek.

'If you believe it, Fiona, then so do I. But I need to speak to Myrtle. There must be a reason.'

'The reason? She's a crazy, vindictive bitch who wants to get back at me. I underestimated her. The Voodoo Queen- no one saw _that_ coming,' Fiona scoffed and shook her head. 'I wonder how long she's been planning something like this.' Fiona lost herself in thoughts of revenge and puffed heartily on her cigarette. Delia checked her watch.

'We have little over 7 hours,' she clapped her hands together, as if to jump start the plan she so desperately needed. 'I'm going to summon The Council. The first thing we need to do is make sure that this has been a unanimous decision. If not Myrtle's words hold no power, and there'll be nothing to worry about,' Cordelia spoke sweetly, gently, borrowing her mother's ability to appear calm and confident whilst panicked and strained. Her hands cupped my face and I was momentarily comforted by her smile.

'And what happens if it _is_ a unanimous decision? What happens then?' I whispered, already knowing the response. Delia looked at me with her huge eyes.

'Then we make our case,' she whispered. 'And hope they see the truth.'


	7. Chapter 7

Cecily Pembroke was a fading, drab, tight-lipped witch. Apparently grey in every sense of the word, she entered the room looking both bored and stiff, evidently dictated to by the rules. Quentin Fleming, however, bounced into the living area burning in camp sass and dishing out judgemental stares- even towards Fiona. He smirked, reaching his arms for her and they kissed cheeks. He glared at me over Fiona's shoulder as he did so. 'You're aware that this isn't an official meeting?' he said, taking a seat. Cordelia's hands rubbed into one another nervously.

'Yes, we know,' she said finally. 'We asked you here without Myrtle on purpose.'

'Witches conspiring against themselves now, huh? You ladies don't have enough enemies already?' he smirked. Fiona stepped towards him, her heels cracking against the wooden floor.

'Marie Laveau,' she announced, throatily. Pembroke looked up from her fingers as they typed rhythmically against the stenograph machine.

'What about her?' she asked glancing over to Quentin.

Fiona sighed deeply. 'Myrtle Snow brought her over to my apartment for tea and cakes this morning,' she said sarcastically.

'Well, I'm very glad you girls have finally managed to put aside your differences,' Quentin mocked.

'Listen here, you old fool,' Fiona snapped, her hair falling in front of her face as she jolted towards him once more. 'What's your end game?'

'My what?' Quentin scoffed, bringing a hand to his chest, shocked.

'You're working with Voodoo Queens now? What has she promised you? Huh? What are you getting out of this?' Fiona's questions were hurried and impassioned and attacked Quentin's dumbfounded expression. Cordelia stepped forward and put a quiet hand on her mother's shoulder. Fiona shrugged it off and took a step back, breathing and fixing her hair.

'I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about,' Quentin spoke quietly, his Southern accent melting from him lips.

'Oh for Christ sake,' Fiona screamed. 'We don't have time for your games.'

'Enough!' Cordelia shouted and the room instantly stopped its bustling. 'Acantha has been sentenced to burning,' she explained, struggling to keep her tone strong and controlled. 'We want to know what kind of weight this sentencing has.' The room remained quiet. 'Is this a Council ruling? Or has Myrtle really lost it?' she continued, reading their avoiding expression.

'Answer her,' Fiona demanded, lighting up a cigarette.

Quentin sighed. 'That crazy old fool,' he sighed again, shaking his head. 'She just couldn't wait to do something like this.'

'So it isn't true?' I asked, lifting my head.

'Oh no, dear. It's true,' he shot back at me, eyes of stone glaring fiercely. 'It just wasn't too professional of her to give the ruling without the rest of The Councilmembers present.'

'You mean, you're working with Marie Laveau to have one of your own burned at the stake?' Cordelia panted, shocked.

'Well everything sounds awful when you say it in that tone,' Quentin joked, fixing his hat.

'Explain yourself,' Fiona growled, her body turned slightly from the Councilmembers.

'Marie Laveau used her Voodoo magic to show Myrtle and myself a vision; a flashback, if you will,' he said directly.

'Very reliable,' Pembroke chimed.

Fiona turned. 'Yes, extremely reliable, I'm sure; the magical powers of our sworn enemy. What the _hell_ is going on with everybody?' Fiona's fists balled as she raged.

'We didn't like to do it, Fiona, but you know how it is. We don't always get to do what's easy. Our duty is to the protection of The Coven-,' Quentin rambled.

'-And I'm just not sure you fully understand how much trouble this whole situation has caused,' Pembroke harmonised. 'Never in our Wiccan history has one of our own made an attempt on so many lives, causing so much destruction in their wake. It cannot go unpunished, Fiona. You know that.'

Fiona threw down her cigarette. 'Perhaps, but it also cannot go _unproven_ ,' she whispered through gritted teeth. 'The manipulated visions of our enemy will _not_ stand for evidence. I will _not_ allow it.'

'Oh, sweetheart, it already _has_ stood,' Quentin subdued, sweetly. 'The Council has ruled.'

His words shot at the three of us like daggers. Fiona was red with rage, Cordelia breathless with shock and an inability to accept what was being thrown at her. I backed myself slowly into a chair, lowering myself to prevent my weak legs from buckling from under me. This was happening. 'It's obvious manipulation,' Fiona breathed. 'How can you not see how you're being played? _Idiots_ ,' she hissed.

'What did you see?' I suddenly found myself talking. Quentin raised his eyebrows in response. 'What did she show you that made you so certain you could trust her and condemn me?'

Quentin sighed. 'Are you sure?' he asked, his eyes darting to Pembroke's. I nodded. 'Fine,' he shrugged. 'You were arguing with Madison.'

'Everyone's always arguing with Madison,' Fiona huffed. 'That bitch lives for the drama.' Cordelia flashed her mother a glare. 'What? It's true,' she shrugged.

'You locked yourself in the bathroom,' Quentin continued. 'And lit a candle.' I felt Cordelia's eyes linger on me for a moment, questioning. I nodded. Everything was true so far. 'You lifted up your dress.' My breath hitched at what I knew was coming. 'We could see your legs.' My eyes stayed glued to Quentin's now saddened ones. 'The scars,' he whispered. Both Delia and Fiona turned slightly towards me, but again my shameful eyes remained, purposefully on Quentin's. 'You brought the flame to your skin and left it there, shaking. It was awful,' he whispered, pain residing briefly on his brow. I had blinked, not realising that my embarrassment had kept my eyes closed, tight. I swallowed, ignoring the awkwardness and the silent questions that now lingered in the room. I heard Fiona's heels shuffle on the floor and prayed she wasn't walking- either towards or away from me, as both would have been equally painful.

'Huh uh, then what?' I pressed, begging him to get to the lies.

'Your pain and anger was so evident. Even through the vision I could feel it. The longer the flame was on your skin the more difficult it was to control. You closed your eyes, envisioning first Madison, then each of the other girls caught in your blaze, hurting them the way you were hurting.'

'No,' I muttered, wiping the tears from my eyes. 'No, that didn't happen.'

'Your anger powered the flames and they moved about the room like an animal, eventually flying through the house, seeking out your victims like your own personal lapdog.'

'No,' I shouted.

'That's ludicrous,' Cordelia hissed at him, her hand comforting my shoulder as I fought back tears.

'I… I don't even have that kind of power,' I whimpered. 'Tell him, Fiona.'

Fiona stood still and silent with her back to me, a plume of smoke consistently twirling above her head. 'It's true,' she said, eventually, her voice deep and grating. 'She isn't so strong,' she whispered.

'Marie Laveau is a very powerful woman.' Cordelia stepped up next to her mother. 'She easily has the ability to control and mould a vision to her whim. H- how can you not see that?'

'We have nothing else to go on, Cordelia,' Pembroke sighed, bringing her eyes up once more from the stenograph. 'Bring us solid evidence clearing Acantha's name before 6pm or she'll be burning… Again, so it might seem.'

Cordelia topped up her mother's glass and passed me the bottle of scotch. 'I'm not one for rule-breaking but I guess given the circumstances you deserve a drink,' she whispered. Her eyes were red and blotchy. Fiona hadn't said a word since the Councilmembers left. She just reclined, cat-like in a battered old Chesterfield, drinking quietly. I drank from the bottle. The air was thick with disappointment and despair. 'I just wish there was something I could do,' Cordelia said, desperately, running her fingers through her hair.

'You've done everything you could.' I spoke matter-of-factly, dazed by the prospect I was facing. In four hours' time I'd be in flames. Cordelia's head hung low.

'Do you have any family you want to get in touch with?' I shook my head mildly. My mother wouldn't understand this. I thought it better that she continued believing I was far away building my talents and heading towards greatness.

'What do you think death's like?' I asked. Fiona slammed down her tumbler, sighing and rolling her head, dramatically.

'Jesus Christ, this is so depressing,' she whined, standing and walking towards the door.

'Where are you going?' Delia, stood, walking after her.

'I have to get out of here, Delia. The stench of death is intoxicating.' She had whispered, but I heard and my heart sank. Fiona hadn't looked particularly sad when the anger had finally left her. It had seemed as though in her acceptance of my fate, any hope I had of her coming to my aid, fighting to the death, crying even, had died. I didn't judge her- after all, a Supreme, I'm sure, has to go through many painful and disturbing moments in her life, and has to maintain her strength and dignity all the while. I did, however, feel stupid for imagining her by my side until the end. Had I known Fiona for longer I would have been more reliably able to predict her response. She walked away, without as much as a goodbye and Cordelia's apologising but resigned expression indicated that this was typical Fiona Goode behaviour. I just smiled, wearily, taking another mouthful of scotch. I knew I couldn't really be anything other than thankful that I'd managed to bask in Fiona's affections, even if it only ever culminated in an arm's length closeness. I'd had the best days of my life, so it seemed poetic justice had ensured that the next chapter of my life would be the ending of it. And without Fiona by my side, how bittersweet it seemed.


	8. Chapter 8

At exactly 17.30 the hotel door opened silently and two albino body guards came into my hazed view. Myrtle's henchmen. They said nothing, but approached me purposefully, ignoring Delia's pleas, and pulled me by my arms to my feet, pointing me towards the door. I handed Cordelia the bottle as she stood, whispering meaningless words and empty promises that fell on deaf ears. I wasn't about to fight. I took her face in my hands briefly, and smiled. 'Shh, Delia. It's okay.' She smiled back at me, a world of powerlessness and futility in her pooling eyes. 'You don't have to come,' I whispered.

She shook her head forcefully, composing herself. 'I'm coming.' She squeezed my hand and simpered, sadly.

'Thank you.' Relief flooded me as I hugged her. I was terrified, but I wouldn't be alone and in those short moments before, knowing that meant everything. My opinions of her had changed and I momentarily worried that I was using her, taking her goodness and strength when I was alone and afraid but happily tormenting her when I'd thought she was against me. The thought only fluttered across my mind briefly though, as I realised it really didn't matter. This was my last journey; to the pyre. The bodyguards wound rope around my wrists and assisted me into the black SUV that was waiting outside. Cordelia was permitted to sit beside me, but only with a guard on my other side, holding my bound wrists firmly. We didn't talk much. It seemed there was so little left to say.

I'd wondered about Fiona. I thought of her sitting in a bar somewhere, drowning her sorrows, unable to cope with the idea of living in a world without me in it. I was embellishing, of course, but I allowed myself to do so. It made me feel better about her disappearance. I considered filling the silent air that smothered Cordelia and I with conversations of her mother, but I wasn't sure she'd understand why I so desperately needed to talk about her. The idea of speaking about Fiona seemed distracting and somehow fulfilling, but I knew Delia wouldn't say the right things. She'd tell me stories of how neglectful a mother she was; how flippant and unreliable she'd been as The Supreme; how selfish she'd always been. I wanted to hear about her favourite seasons and perfumes, her greatest fears, what her parents had been like. I wanted to feel an inch closer to knowing Fiona Goode before the opportunity was gone forever. But I didn't open my mouth. I didn't dare talk for fear of not finding the right words in time; for fear of beginning a conversation I was unable to finish.

The car came to a stop over a dusty track and a sudden surge of emotion pulsed through me. The driver got out and opened Cordelia's door. She looked over to me, her hand over my thigh. She breathed deeply, squeezing it, nodding. She stepped out of the car and I followed, the larger bodyguard leading me by my wrists to a nearby dirt path. I looked around me. Everything seemed sort of beautiful. The landscape was bare and dusty, but the sky was clear and the sun sweltered above us. The air had never seemed cleaner. Cordelia wrapped her arms around my shoulders as we walked, sniffling and wiping my tears from my cheeks as I smiled, deliberately trying to project a calm and collected disposition. I'd thought if I kept smiling the contentment would be mirrored on the inside and I wouldn't be quite as afraid, but the fear was coming thick and fast, becoming more and more overwhelming with every step I took. My hands shook, my head swam and I panted the panic in quiet breaths I tried to hide. I glanced upwards and saw the very top of the pyre I was heading towards at the top of an upward climb. I could also hear people muttering in the distance and felt my heart begin to pound quicker and with more fury than it ever had done before. I prayed to reach the top of that hill and see Fiona's face. I needed the comfort I found in her eyes in order to get through this with any shred of dignity. Cordelia continued squeezing and rubbing her hands on me, letting me know she was there, and I felt guilty for not appreciating it as much as I should have. But all I wanted was to see that self-proclaimed mean old bitch.

As the pyre slowly revealed itself, I caught the copper streaks of Myrtle Snow's crimped hair and the hope died once again. She was chatting, in an offensively casual manner, to Quentin Fleming, as though my appointment to be burned at the stake had impeded on her dinner reservations. My feet were finally on level ground but had stopped moving. The sheer ferocity of the seriousness of what was about to happen set in. It felt like ice in my veins. I panicked, realising I was audibly crying and pulled against the tug on my wrists. I turned from Cordelia only to collapse on my knees, throwing up. The alcohol had just made me sweat and shake, and my heart beat so fast I thought I was going to pass out. Cordelia's hands wrapped around me, helping me to my feet. She wiped my mouth, quietly crying as she looked into my eyes. 'I don't want to die,' I whispered through hitched breaths and sobs. She quickly wiped a tear from her cheek then pulled me to her, as I shuddered and wailed.

'Where's your dignity?' a voice cried out. I looked up from Delia's hold to see Myrtle strolling towards us, her garish canary-yellow dress blowing around her ankles. 'Really, darling, have some self-respect.'

'How dare you,' Delia snapped, turning and facing Myrtle, her face red and wet with tears.

'Whatever do you mean?'

'This entire charade is barbaric. You're out of your goddamn mind! I will never forgive you for this,' Delia sobbed. 'I never thought I'd see the day I would be so hurt and disgusted by you.' Her hands shook as she lay them on me, trying to protect me from something she had no power over.

'Please, Myrtle,' I whispered desperately from behind Delia. 'I'll do anything.' My voice cracked and I saw the disappointment in Myrtle's face. By giving in and begging, I'd failed some strange test of curtesy and etiquette. I hadn't planned on doing it, but I hadn't realised just how terrified I would be in the moment. It was fear like nothing I'd ever known and if losing face was all that stood between me and the rest of my life, I was willing to sacrifice it all in the hopes of redeeming it. Delia's eyes mirrored my appeals as she looked back at her elder.

'Oh child, what a disappointment. Think of your ancestors; do you think they wailed and hurled in the streets like sick puppy-dogs? Causing such a fuss? No, of course not. They kept their grace about them and died with value.' She walked towards us causing the fear in me to rise once again. 'Come,' she said, holding out a hand. I screwed my face up as I cried, distraught at her calmness and poise.

'Myrtle, stop. You don't have to do this,' Delia shouted, panic flooding her lungs. She stood strongly in front of me, but with a simple glance from Myrtle, the guards retook their hold of my bound wrists and pulled me hard, my feet slipping against the sand and dust.

'Please Myrtle,' I shrieked, over and over as the men, wordlessly, battled my pulling and kicking. Delia ran behind me, her pained cries cutting into me. 'I don't want to die,' I wailed, as we finally reached the pyre. 'I didn't do it,' I whispered to the guards. 'I swear to you, I didn't do it.' Their faces remained blank, almost as though they couldn't even hear me, as they held me against the wooden frame and wrapped lengths of rope tightly around my torso. 'Please! Let me go,' I howled. Cordelia's face came into my blurred view as she made her way up the raised pyre towards me. She took my face in her hands, sobbing and pushing the hair from my wet cheeks, hurriedly. 'I didn't do it,' I whispered. 'I didn't, I swear.'

'I know, I know, sweetheart.' She held me close, crying into my hair as I rested my head on her shoulder.

'Prove to them they were wrong to do this to me, Delia, please,' I begged. She pulled back, looking once more into my eyes. She nodded mildly.

'Cordelia, unless you want to join your friend I suggest you get down from there, my dear,' Myrtle called. The guards around me shook tanks of accelerant as they circled us. I panted, desperately begging for some strength from Delia's eyes. She looked back at me, with certainty and smoothed my hair over again.

'Acantha,' she whispered. 'Be… Brave.' Her eyes filled with tears once again and I closed mine, sighing deeply. Her comforting words were no longer those of war but those of defeat. I gave up, realisation sweeping over me. I was going to die. Delia kissed me, her hands brushed over my wet cheeks once more and her eyes took me in one last time. She stepped away and I felt the cold liquid wash over me as I was doused in accelerant. The fumes burned my nose and the potent spirit irritated my skin, but I knew it was all a prelude to the real pain I was about to endure. The sun was shining in the distance and through all my tears it blended together against the dusty track like a beautiful Monet. The unrealistic essence of it all wrapped around me as I realised this would be the last thing I'd ever see, and I was strangely pleased. It truly was beautiful.

I kept my eyes on Cordelia's as she stood, her hands over her mouth, watching me like a horror show. My sobbing persisted, spurred on by the terror that slivered through my bones, but I had found an acceptance and I tried to convince myself that it had calmed me slightly. All I was doing now was waiting. Waiting for someone to strike a match; for someone to flex their pyrokinesis; for someone to save me. 'Acantha Starling, you've been charged with the attempted murder of your Coven. The penalty for attempting to bring harm upon another witch is death by burning. Do you have any last words?' The voice echoed around me, rising and quieting intermittently. I tried to catch my breath and compose myself, holding the trembles tightly in my chest.

'I… I am innocent of the crime I'm being accused of.' My voice was unsteady and deep.

'They always are,' Quentin smirked, quietly. Delia shot him a wicked glare and flicked her wrist, sending him flying into the dust. Myrtle nodded her head in my direction and the floor suddenly roared at me. My screams of despair were drowned out by the volume of the flames devouring my ankles and growing taller every second. The pain corrupted my flesh, turning it instantly into blistered sores that melted together with my skirt. I danced as well as I could, but the binds held me tightly and all I could do was cry, praying for it to be over. I glanced up through the smoke at Delia one last time, my pain reflected in her eyes as she sobbed on her knees, horrified at Myrtle's dedication to her wicked plan. I hung from the pyre, my feet no longer able to bare my own weight, and blinked, lightheaded with agony and fumes. I thought I saw something moving up the hill behind Cordelia. My cries went on relentlessly, piercing screams, eyes stinging with tears and smoke, but the blur continued to move towards us. As the flames licked my thighs and singed my shirt I heard an almighty yell and instantly the fire died, leaving nothing but a heavily bodied cloud of black smoke blanketing my still burning flesh. The ropes holding me snapped and I collapsed onto the searing, coaled ground around me, roaring in the ongoing torment. I had no idea what had happened. Only moments passed before Cordelia was by my side, her hands over me, trying to stop the torture by cradling my head in her arms, kissing me and telling me it was over. She repeated it like a prayer as she cried.

I glanced over to my right and saw three new figures, almost encircling Myrtle. They were talking irately to one another, but I couldn't hear them. I couldn't concentrate long enough to focus on them. The searing pain was overwhelming and I was nauseated by the stench of my own burning flesh that caught in my throat. I took hold of Cordelia's hand, squeezing it as tightly as I could muster. 'Acantha? Acantha, stay with me,' she echoed around me. I looked up at the sky and watched the smoke still blowing from around us. The noises around me began to muffle as my eyes closed. The effort of opening them again was too demanding, instead I relaxed into Cordelia's hold of me. 'Acantha.' I could barely hear her now. I heard her speak again but couldn't make out what she was saying.

Then another voice. A stronger voice. 'She gonna be okay?' It was one that comforted me to no end. Fiona was with me and I smiled as I succumbed to the pull of unconsciousness.


	9. Chapter 9

I'd been dreaming in orange. Bright lights that flashed up out of nowhere, like roaring oceans, and then died into calming purples. I felt safe to rest, but didn't rest peacefully. The smell of burning meat lingered and discomforted me. Another light began to shine, so bright I stirred and suddenly heard myself breathe, deeply. The scent of burned meat instantly disappeared and was replaced with the sweet smell florals and a faint, damp musk. I blinked, still adjusting to my surroundings. I saw the fireplace in front of me, above it pictures of jazz musicians hung. I was in Joe's apartment. I was alive. I listened to the mumble of hushed voices and the sound of glasses against wood. I glanced over to the table and saw four figures crowded quietly over a bottle of scotch. I sighed, sitting myself up against the pillows. I ached; my wrists were red and bruised from tightened ropes; my ribs and spine felt battered from the binds that held me to the wooden pyre; my lungs and chest burned and itched from the smoke that had settled there. But I daren't even think about the pain in my legs. I was far too afraid there would be nothing left. I rubbed my head, sighing again and caught the attention of Cordelia, who instantly stood from the table, causing the others to turn towards me. Delia's face was full of relief as she moved around the table. Fiona was the last to turn her blonde tresses to face me. She stood slowly, instantly halting Delia's movements, with a sharp stern wave of her hand, her eyes filling with unwelcome tears that she shrugged off, ashamedly, with each step. Her heels cracked, this time delicately, against the wooden floor, each languid spark symbolising and reaffirming my existence. Fiona walked around the bed, finally reaching me, and leaned down, taking my face in her hands. 'Am I alive?' I croaked, huskily, not recognising my own grating rasps. My chest burned, but it didn't matter; Fiona was smiling.

'Yes, of course you are,' she beamed. She moved the hair from around my face and I took her hand. I closed my eyes. I was confused, dehydrated and in immense pain, but I was somehow happy. Everything that hurt me proved to me it was because I was living. Fiona squeezed my hand and I never wanted her to let go.

'What happened?' I questioned, bringing her hand up to my cheek.

'It doesn't matter,' Fiona whispered, her breath heavy with scotch and cigarettes. 'You need to rest. Do you need anything? Some water?' I felt her free hand play over my hair again.

'Will you lay with me?' I asked, opening my eyes. I saw her look up, nervously, towards the others. I could feel their eyes but I didn't want to look anywhere but her face. 'Just until I fall asleep,' I urged. She looked back down and smiled at me, calmly. She nodded, just once, and walked around to the other side of the bed. Her black heels clunked on the floor as she slipped them off effortlessly and climbed on top of the covers, gently and slowly, so as not to disturb me. I was peaceful and shy with pain. I only really needed the scent of her to know she was next to me, but my body still paused, waiting for the weight of her head on the pillow beside me, and I relaxed as she sighed. I turned and looked at her. She was laying on her side, her entire body facing me, protecting me from the glare of the others- whoever they might've been. I searched for her hand and laced my fingers with hers. It was quiet again. I heard Cordelia sit back down and someone placed a glass on the table, but no one spoke.

'Close your eyes,' Fiona whispered. 'You need to rest.' I smiled inwardly, feeling her care. I did as she instructed and closed my exhausted eyes.

'You saved me, didn't you?' I whispered, clinging to her fingers.

'Shh,' she purred, softly, and gently traced my cheek with the back of her hand. 'Rest.'

The room felt crowded with too many eyes and breaths all exhaling into the same remote space. I felt stifled before I even opened my eyes, at the quiet hum of busy work; pages of books being turned, deep, long inhales on cigarettes, a faucet gently running and glasses and plates being rinsed underneath it. For a moment I was content to listen to it; the banality and simplicity it harboured. Perhaps it had all been a bad dream. But then my mind shot to the fire that still held me. The lower-half of my body seethed in ceaseless, unbearable waves of anger and pain. My breath hitched as I tried to breathe through it, waiting for a break in its ongoing purgatory. My groan echoed into the room that harboured only gentle silence and the respectful drone of the menial tasks that the inhabitants had taken to. I instantly felt their eyes on me before the bustle and panic filled the air. 'She's awake,' Cordelia muttered from across the room, as I felt a soft, warm hand on my wrist. At first I thought it was Fiona's touch but the perfume, the scent that accompanied it was altogether different. Fiona's trademark odour was expensive perfume, cigarettes and good bourbon. This was light and natural; incense. And it painted the most wonderful image of white lights and weightless deities. I don't know who this woman was but I felt safe and protected. I stopped trying to fight to open my weak, heavy eyelids, content to be in her care. Still, my ears pricked, waiting, eagerly for the poisoned tongue of the Supreme.

'It's not infection, at least. Her skin is cool and she has colour,' the woman spoke softly with a delicate southern accent that only assisted in wrapping me up in contentment. She placed the back of her hand over my forehead and I felt a shadow loom over me as she blocked the light. I winced as she peeled back the blankets, instantly relieving some of the heat. Now I had to fight to keep my eyes closed, determined not to look at what was left of the mangled flesh on the lower half of my body. But with the breeze of the blankets being pulled back, a puff of scented air was offered. It smelled of soil and manure. I felt the very faint prods and strokes of two fingers, moulding something heavy and wet around my legs, as though they were encased in something.

'Is this going to work?' Cordelia whispered, her worried voice much closer to me now.

'It hasn't failed me yet. Pure, natural swamp mud has more healing properties than any of the drugs I hear they have in those big fancy hospitals.' A big wet slop, as she lightly patted what I'd now realised was entangled around my legs; swamp mud. Still, I didn't have the energy to move or cause a raucous. At least I was alive. I gently breathed through the pain, careful not to inhale too deeply and irritate my seething lungs. My hand reached out for the body I felt still near the bed, and a quiet, surprised, 'Oh,' fell from her lips, before I felt her slimy, sodden hands take mine and hold it tenderly. She leaned closer. 'Don't worry, you just relax; we're gonna fix you right up,' she swore, with gentle conviction. I mildly squeezed against her soft hand and allowed myself to believe her, sinking into sub-consciousness once more, and elated at my freedom to just be still and not have to try to find words yet. I melted into a calm dream as soft footsteps walked from the bed.

'Come on, kid,' Fiona's weary voice reasoned as though she'd been at it for some time. I held onto thick voice and allowed it to pull me from my slumber. 'You've got to eat something,' she continued. I blinked, looking up at her knitted brow that ran concernedly over my weak body. She held a plate of something in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Her eyes looked pained until she saw me looking back at her and a gentle happiness brushed along her face, coercing a kind smile. 'You've been asleep for almost 3 days, Acantha. You need to eat something, or all this hard work'll be for nought, when you die of starvation.' She was joking but there was genuine worry in her eyes. She placed the glass of water on the bedside table and brushed the hair from my face. 'Chicken stew,' she said to the glance I gave to the plate. Then, 'You should try and eat something, just a little,' at my screwed up face. I finally sighed, realising she wasn't going to go away and tried to pull myself up slightly, ignoring the sticky, sweaty feeling surrounding and holding my legs. 'You don't look well,' Fiona mumbled to herself. 'Delia,' she called to her daughter, who I hadn't noticed was sitting at the table. She was joined by a blonde woman and, to my horror, Marie Laveau, who sat comfortably beside them, as though she was one of them. 'What do you think?' Fiona asked, sweetly, to her child, running her eyes over me and touching my sticky face.

'What,' I managed, quietly, as I worked against the never ending burning in my lungs. My chest felt as though an elephant had sat on it. Cordelia looked down at me, her kind eyes filled with sympathy and warmth. She took hold of my hand.

'What is it, honey?' she cooed. I balled my fists, inadvertently squeezing Cordelia's hand, but my strength was almost non-existent, so she didn't react.

'What… is she… d-doing here?' I rasped, glaring daggers across the room to the Voodoo Queen who was sipping on a glass of water. My heart raced the longer I stared at her, the longer I knew I was awake and wasn't stuck in some horrible nightmare. I tried to scream all my fury at the blonde women stood either side of me, but nothing but a weak cough emitted from my lips. I felt powerless. Even more so when I watched Cordelia's soft smile appear, as she shrugged off my concern.

'It's difficult to explain, Acantha. But she's not a threat to you anymore. I want you to forget you even saw her, okay? You have to concentrate on healing.' Her words seemed genuine and kind but something itched inside me, stifling me, making me paranoid. The women I trusted to bring me back from the brink of death couldn't possibly be working with the evil that put me there, could they? I pulled my hand from Cordelia's caressing touch with as much force as I could muster and turned back to Fiona who stood statuesque and beautiful as the light from the window illuminated all around her, like an angel, some other-worldly being sent to save me. But as I rested upon her eyes, I saw that she, too, believed that Marie Laveau was perfectly safe sitting casually in the kitchenette, chatting pleasantly with the other blonde woman whose back was to me.

'There's nothing to worry about,' she waved dismissively, laying a napkin on my lap and readying to place the plate there.

'No,-' I mumbled, stopping her in her step before she placed the hot, heavy, plate atop my damaged thighs. 'No,' I said again, a little more firmly.

'Look, kid, this is getting real tiresome,' Fiona huffed, shifting her weight to one hip.

'Fiona,' Cordelia sighed, tenderly defending me.

'She has to eat, Delia. Otherwise, what was the point?' The women spoke irately for several moments, but I lost interest. Instead my gaze fell to the Voodoo Queen who rolled her eyes at the blonde's incessant questions. I couldn't hear what was being said over the mother-daughter duel that was taking place over the top of me, but I feared for the blonde. Even more so when I realised it was probably the kind, white witch that emitted those calming lights and brought me her swamp mud and dulcet tones. 'I don't give a tiny rat's ass what you think, Delia. When you get your medical degree from Harvard, then you can start playing nurse maid and telling everyone what to do. But right now we have to keep her strong, and she won't be strong if she doesn't eat the goddamn food.' Fiona paused, sighing and shifting her gaze from Cordelia down to me. 'Now, are you going to eat it voluntarily or am I gonna have to make you? Because I'm not adverse to using magic to get my own way, you know,' she droned, tiresomely.

'Tell me... what she's doing… here,' I whimpered, throwing my glance quickly back to Marie Laveau. Fiona sighed once more, staring up at her daughter, questioningly. Delia shrugged, lightly, and edged onto the bed, reaching for the cooling plate.

'We will tell you while you eat, yes?' she nodded sternly, stirring the thick stew. I sighed, taking the napkin from my lap and rolling my eyes lightly.

'Fine. Yes,' I muttered, readying myself for the first spoonful Cordelia scooped up.


	10. Chapter 10

Fiona crossed her arms as she paced, drawlingly, gratingly, around the bed, nodding her head or bringing her fingers to the bridge of her nose every now and again, as Cordelia told me what had taken place during the last 3 days. It all began on the day I'd never forget; the day I was condemned to death by fire. It was after we had tried to convince the Council of my innocence, and after Cordelia had opened a bottle of scotch. She and I had sat silently, attempting to understand the panic and fear I was drowning in, but Fiona had left us, claiming the stench of my approaching death was 'intoxicating'. I believed she meant the stench of my pity, but either way the bitterness had done its job and I remained, hurt and too in shock to even open my mouth at her; to even whisper my contention. 'We both believed that Fiona had slinked off into the night, as she does when things get a little hairy,' Cordelia spoke softly, her eyes flitted up to her mother with a heavy darkness of judgement encircling them. Fiona scoffed and reached for her cigarettes, running her hands through her hair as she paced. 'But we were wrong.' The spoon hit against the bowl tinging and causing a melodic whir to ring out around the room. 'She'd gone to find Marie; she'd gone to the Voodoo side of town.'

I swallowed down another mouthful of lukewarm stew, allowing it to ease the eternal stinging as it coated my throat. 'I just wanted to know what the hell was going on,' Fiona puffed, emitting a silky cloud of smoke as she did so. 'So I could try and fix it.'

'And?' I muttered, chewing apathetically on a strip of soft chicken.

'And she was there, sitting on her throne like a goddamn queen,' she scoffed, throwing a shady glance to the bright-eyed woman. Marie flicked her long braided hair over her shoulder and crossed her legs, pursing her lips, antagonisingly.

'I _am_ the queen, witch,' she offered, raising her eyebrow.

'Oh, hush up, will you?' the Supreme spat back at her, boredom settling on her eyes. 'I asked her for the truth,' Fiona continued, looking down at me. 'But she laughed at me- very mature. So I threatened her. That got her talking,' she smirked sadistically and her eyes twinkled. Cordelia fed me another spoonful of stew, but at this point I was so lost in the story, I didn't realise I was still eating. 'I brought her the bound beast she'd fallen in love with and promised to cut off his head if she didn't tell me exactly what was going on. Even in _her_ territory, with _her_ people and _her_ magic, she knew that there'd be nothing she could do to fix it, if I flicked my wrist quickly enough.' The blonde was now gloating, and as a general rule, it isn't an attractive feature. But when Fiona Goode did it, it felt as though everything around her was shaking, smudging, just to accentuate her glorious, glowing power, her tenacity. Her lips curled into a delighted grin as she slimily faced the Voodoo Queen, knocking her off her throne, one angry syllable at a time. Marie glared back, her smugness dripping from her chin to be replaced with a wounded anger.

'It had been Marie's idea, not Myrtle's, so there's that at least,' Cordelia said, softly, relieved at her loved one's innocence. 'It was idiotic of Myrtle to trust someone like Marie- no offence,' she whispered over her shoulder, back to the table that housed the witches' enemy. Marie shrugged and turned her attention back to the glass in front of her. 'But at least she didn't concoct the plan herself. It wasn't done out of malice. If anything, it was done out of dedication and loyalty to the Coven. Out of love for her sister witches.' Her voice was becoming thick with uncertainty, but she made sure every word still sliced through, meaningfully, even over the top of my dissatisfied glares.

'The woman's a goddamn weirdo,' Fiona grated, putting out her cigarette in the ashtray beside the bed. 'She's got a screw loose. And _that_ is why I'm demanding that she's stripped of her duties to this coven.' Fiona wagged a painted black-nailed finger across me towards Delia's furrowed countenance. She opened her mouth to protest, but Fiona beat her to it. 'And she should be thankful, as should you be, that I'm not insisting she burns for her crimes. And her demented ways.' Cordelia's shoulders fell slightly as she breathed into her mother's words. I, however, scoffed, trying to convey my protests with as little energy as possible. Fiona glanced down at me. 'What?' she mumbled, annoyance coating her drawl.

'So, she did this… and she still gets to… to be here… with us?' I spluttered, taking the glass of water that Fiona offered as she rolled her eyes.

'She isn't evil, kid. You were just the unfortunate victim of a century long feud. I know that doesn't take anything away from it, but she admitted to manipulating the vision she'd shown Myrtle. The minute she did so, it was illegal for the burning to continue.' She sighed, shrugging slightly, with unsure eyes. 'I don't know. I've done worse to her people,' she muttered, regretfully. I sat open mouthed at the atrocity taking place in front of me. The Supreme was supposed to protect her coven at all costs; to guide them and ensure their reign. Fiona was particularly feisty. How was it that she had bowed under with such little pressure?

'We made a new pact,' Delia plodded along with the story, offering another spoonful of stew. I shook my head, modestly and she folded, dropping the spoon in the bowl with another rapturous clang. 'To work together to help defeat a common evil.'

'What happened to the last pact?' I forced, sarcastically. 'How can you… trust her now?' My breaths were becoming more and more difficult to control the more I thought about how stupid they were all being.

'The last pact worked well enough, for long enough,' Delia spoke calmly, lifting from the bed and taking the leftover plate of cold stew with her. I sipped my water.

'But this one will have to stay in place, with neither party shrinking from it, if we're going to survive,' Fiona continued, more as a reaffirmation than a sentence. Both women looked up at Marie and I followed their eyes. She pursed her lips again.

'What are y'all looking at me for? I signed the goddamn paper,' she sassed.

'You also signed the last one,' Fiona growled as her heels clicked softly on the floor, paced and rhythmic, like a pendulum. 'And then sent one of my witches to the stake.' Fiona lazily folded her arms and rolled her head over in my direction. 'She does well not to trust you, Marie. You're going to have to earn it.' I smiled back up at the champagne haired goddess in front of me, weak and overcome with longing. I sighed at the inevitability of it all and then gently gripped my legs over the covers. The searing pain had weakened with every distracted minute, and now they ached dully but bearably. I fleetingly wondered if I'd ever walk again, but shut it out immediately, knowing that Fiona would do everything in her power to heal me as best as she knew how. Even if that meant calling in a swamp witch to rub alligator waste over me.

'Is the pain easing?' the familiar southern-tainted voice trilled to me, as the messy, nestled blonde hairs swung around to face me. The swamp witch was beautiful, with rippling, rose-kissed lips and wild blue eyes that seemed to be constantly evaluating everything in the room. I felt myself blushing as she sashayed towards me, and then shook it off, trying to get a hold of myself. Fiona must have seen the brief recognition of something in my eyes and she pouted, absent-mindedly shaking her head as she walked away. 'I know how it burns- they got me too- but you wouldn't know it. And when I'm done with you, no one will be able to tell.' She smiled, lightly, and flung back the covers, exposing the grey, wet mounds covering both legs. 'The mud's doing its job, working hard. All you have to do is let it.' Her brow furrowed as she inspected my thighs, smearing the grey slop to show pieces of pinky-white skin beneath. 'Not sure about some of these other scars though. They weren't so fresh. I don't know if the mud can do anything about healed skin.' She prodded, keeping her eyes on the flesh she was slowly uncovering. I shifted delicately and flashed a glance in Fiona's direction.

'I- I'm not bothered by them,' I rasped, shrugging as though Fiona's gaze was a heavy, palpable thing that rested on my shoulders, heating me up and weighing me down. Her lips tightened, but she looked away, and I didn't detect judgement in her eyes. Perhaps only sorrow. The swamp witch slopped about in the mud, checking various places and smiling, pleased with herself, before wiping her hands on the towel that hung over her shoulder. The clay set, dry and crisp, in the cracks of her fingers.

'You'll be back to normal in no time,' she sung happily.

'And I made you this,' Cordelia spoke softly, handing me a glass of dark emerald gunk.

'You, you want me to drink that?' I asked, screwing up my face.

'It's got healing properties, enhanced by a hex. Burdock and cloves to heal, chamomile to relax, fennel seed for strength, and comfrey and eucalyptus leaves for protection during your weakened state. It'll help ease your throat and chest, clear out the smoke in your lungs. Might even act as a vitamin booster, seeing as you're not eating a lot.'

'Ah, Delia. We already have one swamp witch playing with mud. We don't need another one digging around, looking for roots. Use your magic, for Christ's sake,' Fiona chided, sucking on a cigarette and seeming disinterested. It appeared that she just didn't really have anything else to complain about. Cordelia didn't even look back at her.

'Ignore her. It's full of magic,' she whispered, gently smiling. 'Very good, very strong magic.' I brought the glass to my upturned lip, inhaling the pungent smell of broken daisy stalks and earth.

'Are you sure I should be ingesting this?' I looked up at her worriedly.

'Trust me,' she blinked angelically, and I did. It tasted bitter but cooled and numbed as it slid down my throat, more like a scoop of melting ice cream than a liquid. I swallowed the decidedly leafy aftertaste, trying to hide my repulsion, as it had seemed to do as Cordelia said. I could feel my nasal passages opening up, finally allowing air to glide through without pain, my chest's wheezing ceased and I inhaled, testing the strength and bounds of my lungs. They opened but still restricted the capacity. I spluttered a little, but drank again from the green sludge, feeling as though my chest had been alleviated from a great weight. Cordelia smiled, subtle pride playing on her grin. 'It's helped?' she asked, eagerly, taking the empty, but still coated glass from my hand. I nodded, wiping my tinged mouth with the back of my hand and rewarding her with a thankful smile. She stood, beaming, and sauntered past her mother, who rolled her eyes bitterly.

'I'm sorry, are we gonna finish this story or what?' Marie suddenly exclaimed, standing from the table and resting a hand upon her hip.

'Ah, keep quiet, you old hag,' Fiona spat back, instinctively as she poured scotch into a crystal tumbler. I wondered where she'd even found such an item, but then got distracted again by Marie's bellowing voice.

'I thought we agreed to tell her? Assuming, that is, that she is unaware of her situation, and she's not just stringing us all along on some god forsaken ride.' Her eyes burned into me, cruelly. Cordelia put a hand to her forehead, sighing lightly and looking at the ground, as though lost in deep thought.

'Of course she doesn't know,' Fiona hissed, lowering her voice and turning her back to me. 'Do you really think she'd put herself through all of this if she had the choice?'

'What's she talking about?' I spoke clearly, feeling Cordelia's herb atrocity working its magic. The women seemed to slither around the room, uncomfortably and avoiding my eyes. Only Marie's gaze kept its hold, unafraid. I looked back at her, ignoring Fiona throwing back the last of her alcohol and running her hands through her curled hair, ignoring the swamp witch who seemed to cower and shrink at the bottom of the bed, ignoring Cordelia, who loitered at the sink, hand on hip, eyes fixed at a point on the wall. I raised my eyebrows, inviting an explanation.

'You,' the Voodoo Queen finally said, slowly, as she took a step forward and raised a finger up at me. 'What I saw in my vision.' She suddenly seemed to lose her breath, face contorting into confusion or disbelief.

'I- I told you, I didn't do what you said I did,' I spat as strongly as I could, bringing the blankets back over my legs as a form of meagre protection. 'I had nothing to do with that fire.'

'No, but what I saw lead me to your Witch's Council. What I saw was so horrifying it lead me to break the pact.' Her eyes were wide and cloudy as she spoke, almost entranced.

'That's enough,' Fiona interjected, breaking the Voodoo Queen's gaze. 'I'll show you how little she knows,' she said grittily, lowering her hand and pouring and downing another scotch. She brought her bottom lip over the top one, gently suckling away at any remaining trace of alcohol and then turned to me, resting one hand against the table. 'Acantha Starling?' she questioned to my worried expression.

'Yes,' I stuttered.

'Starling?' she repeated, her eyebrows high with expectation.

'What?' I ran through the words in my head, but couldn't make sense of their expressions or tone. Was I being accused of something?

'Did you come up with it or your mother?' Fiona rasped, dryly.

'My mother? Wha- what on earth are you talking about?' I blinked, becoming increasingly panicked at the obvious shift in the air. The swamp witch turned at the bottom of the bed to face me.

'Don't get all worked up, now,' she warned, protectively.

'Misty, stay out of it,' Fiona snapped. She sighed, pouring another drink and then made her way over to the bed, dismissing the swamp witch with one careless flick of her wrist. Misty obeyed, raking her eyes over me with concern, one last time, before joining Marie at the table. Fiona sunk onto the mattress, crossing one leg over the other. 'Your name, kid. Where did it come from?'

'Er, I'm, I'm not sure. My parents came up with it, I guess. I've never met another Acantha. Probably found it online, maybe. Or, or a book?' I panicked and it was obvious with every syllable. I tried to smile, but was too confused to do it any justice.

'Not that one,' Fiona said softly, before taking another sip. 'Starling. Very clever; the bringer of new beginnings, the symbol of the end of an old path and the start of a new one. The perfect cover-up name, and not dissimilar to your original, _family_ name.' Her eyes were accusing me of something, her tone wrapped in betrayal or stinging pain. All I could do was look back at her, begging with glassy eyes for an explanation.

' _What_ are you talking about?' I croaked, trying to hide my breaking voice.

'Fiona, she doesn't know, okay? Let's just, let's just explain it to her,' Cordelia chimed in, folding her arms and relaxing. I nodded mildly.

'Please, please explain. What- what have I done?' Fiona smirked and covered my hand with her own.

'It's not what you've done, kid. It's what you _could_ do,' she whispered, intensely, as her eyes burned from brown to orange.

'Does the name Scathach mean anything to you?' Fiona spoke as she exhaled a familiar pool of smoke and stopped to find an escaped strand of tobacco that rested on her tongue. She peeled it off before glancing back down to me, expectantly. I shook my head mildly, feeling as though I was disappointing her again.

'I, I don't know it.'

'Well you should. Particularly given your,' she pointed a finger in a messy circle in my general direction, 'situation.'

'Wh-what situation?' Fiona rolled her eyes and Cordelia jumped in before she could say anything too nasty.

'Scathach is the name of the Original Supreme,' the young blonde explained. 'Hundreds of years ago, she, a mortal, made a generous sacrifice to the Old Gods. They rewarded her dedication with gifts.' My eyes stayed on hers, waiting for the part that involved me. 'These gifts were plentiful; including The Seven Wonders, and of course, eternal life. She is thought to be one of the most powerful beings that has ever existed. But there has been no trace of her for years. She went into hiding, taking only what she needed, because people wanted her dead. All kinds of people; magical and mortal, good and evil.'

'Why?' I whispered.

'Because she's too dangerous to have around. She could end humanity as we know it. Change the world, and not necessarily for the better. She's what is now referred to as 'agathocacological' meaning of both good and evil and whatever's in between. Legend says she has her own undead tribe somewhere out there, and they tend to her needs out of fear or devotion. But people still go after her, hundreds of people disappear every year on their voyage of finding Scathach, and risk their lives trying to find a way to end hers.' I blinked at the sudden intensity.

'Well, er, that's very interesting. But what does it have to do with me? I've, I've never even heard of this witch.' I shrugged, nervously in the bed. Fiona drank and turned to me.

'There hasn't been a blood relative of Scathach's found in centuries, if there ever was one at all,' she said before Cordelia could finish her story. 'It was believed that, while the witch was a seductress and a powerful siren, luring men, women and whatever other god-awful thing she fancied into her bed, she was unable to reproduce. People said it was because she was an accident; that the Old Gods had given her mortal body too much power, and they had to ensure she couldn't pass it on.' Fiona's voice grew deeper and deeper with every sentence, her eyes more intense and fearful. She swallowed it away, noticing I had seen her uncertainty. 'It was believed a direct descendant of the Original Supreme would have collected strength and power and the ability to shapeshift into plain sight over time. It would be able to pass as a mere witch instead of the grotesque, half-dead thing Scathach is legened to be. But no one ever feared it, because they were told it wasn't true. For centuries there had been no evidence to suggest anything other than what we'd been told; that Scathach is alone out there; a creature all of her own.' She stopped talking but her piercing eyes told me she wasn't done.

'So?' I managed.

'So, Acantha Starling; thorn in our side; blood descendant of Scathach- where the hell did you come from?'


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Big thank you to RainbowGoGoBoots and mstoadoftoadhall for their very lovely, very encouraging reviews. I'm basically writing this purely for you guys now! I hope to keep up to the level I've apparently (unknowingly) set myself and I really, really hope you enjoy these next couple of chapters. Thank you guys very much.**

'This is ludicrous,' I sighed in relief, bringing my thumb and forefinger to the bridge of my nose. 'You, you think that I'm directly related to the Original Supreme?' I looked around at the parade of eyes that littered me, a heavy mixture of apprehension and bitterness in the air, and couldn't help but let out an exasperated laugh. Misty threw a questioning look up firstly to Cordelia and then to Fiona, both of whom remained firmly locked on me. 'Did you see my attempt at the Seven Wonders?' I asked through staggered titters. 'Have you seen the piles of notes and research and incantations I have to learn and revise just to feel remotely like a witch? You know I can't possibly be related to the Original fucking Supreme!' I laughed again, awkwardly trying to hide the light shake that had begun to fade away at the realisation of their mistake. It wasn't anything bad or life changing, I wasn't going to be ostracised from the coven; they'd simply made an error. Or at least Marie had made sure they believed one. 'Fiona,' I cajoled, trying to relieve her of her unreadable expression. 'You've spent all that time with me, you know how insane this sounds. I don't have the power or ability to be this great witch, for Christ's sake. This… this is a joke, right?' I smiled, questioningly around the room to serious countenances.

'I saw it,' Marie said, sternly and controlled. 'I saw _you_. I know what you're going to become. You are to be feared, witch.' I scoffed in response, open mouthed at the silence.

' _I'm_ to be feared? I'm 19, for Christ's sakes. What am I gonna do?'

' _And that being that is born of Wiccan descent will hold a great power and an equally great rage. That being from whom Scathach blood runs will burn for her ancestor's wrongdoings and thus rid the world of a powerful evil._ ' Fiona breathed through widened nostrils as she folded her arms. 'Written by mortals with one hell of a grudge, but I think it's applicable here,' she continued, to my slightly parted lips. She made me wait in agonising panic a few moments longer before allowing a faint smile to brush her lips. I immediately relaxed but not entirely, still unsure of where she was going. 'I told you she didn't know, Marie,' she finally chimed, glancing at the sullen Voodoo Queen who glared at me from across the room. Fiona inhaled deeply, dropping her arms and sauntering her way over to the bedside table to retrieve her cigarettes. 'I'm not afraid of you, you know,' she whispered to me as she inhaled.

'I wouldn't be either. You've seen the extent of my abilities, Fiona. You know this is bullshit,' I shrugged as I leant for my glass of water, sipping in order to regain my composure.

'Oh no, it's true. Every word,' she smiled cynically. 'I'm just not afraid of you.' I scoffed, furrowing my brow in confusion.

'It can't be-'

'-It is. I've no idea how you've lived this long without knowing. I think perhaps your mother has some explaining to do for that, but either way, it's true. _You're_ the common evil we have to protect ourselves from.' Fiona's eyes remained aglow with something I couldn't identify and she smirked, leaving me uncomfortable. 'Isn't that funny?' Cordelia sighed, dipping her head slightly.

'Fiona, there's no need for that,' she lightly chided. 'She's not evil.'

'Not yet,' the Supreme smiled, keeping her eyes on me and lightly nodding her head, just once. There was a thick silence as I attempted to hold Fiona's gaze, my light shakes beginning their return in the depths of my stomach. Her power was much superior to mine and she knew it, but I continued as best as I could, ensuring my determination would come through even if my power didn't.

'Can I just say I am so confused about all this,' Misty finally exclaimed, thankfully jarring Fiona's attention. 'You sent her to burn,' she questioned, pointing a finger at Marie, 'then you went to save her,' she pointed at Fiona. 'You took care of her,' she faced Cordelia, 'and I healed her. And now you're saying she's evil?' her gaze landed on Marie once more. She sighed and mildly threw her hands in the air, scoffing as she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. 'I don't get it.'

'That's because you're an idiot,' Fiona mumbled, blowing a cloud of smoke violently into the air. 'The real question we should be asking here is who else knows about this?' She turned her back from me now, facing her daughter and the other women at the other side of the room. I wondered if I was the 'this' she was referring to and tried to hide my fleeting disappointment as I swallowed.

'No one, surely. Not even she herself knew,' Cordelia reasoned to Fiona's lightly shaking head.

'No, no, someone knows,' she said distractedly. 'Think about it. The Academy.' I watched Cordelia's confused expression as she tried to follow her mother's train of thought. 'Someone tried to kill her,' Fiona whispered to herself.

'Someone tried to kill all of us. We're a house full of witches, Fiona. It's an easy target for-'

'-No,' she continued, interrupting a now frustrated Cordelia, who sighed deeply through her nose. 'If I hadn't had saved her from that pyre she'd be dead right now.' A painted finger-nail violently swung behind her and pointed in my direction and I rolled my eyes at being discussed as though I wasn't in the room. 'She didn't die in the Academy, but she would have died at the stake. _That being from whom Scathach blood runs will burn for her ancestor's wrongdoings.'_ Fiona reiterated. Cordelia shrugged at me and my confounded expression. 'Somebody wanted her dead,' the Supreme repeated, raising an eyebrow and resting a hand on a hip.

I remained bedbound another 6 days, relying on Misty and Cordelia for help with everything from washing to toileting. By day 2, Fiona's patience had disintegrated completely, evident in her general repulsion and angry disgust at everything that surrounded her. It manifested in frustrated groans and intimidating sighs of discontent, her eyes always glowing with threatening power. She made me feel guilty for not healing quickly enough for her liking, but Misty insisted the swap mud stayed on until the end of the week. Fiona simply stood up one Wednesday afternoon, dragged her fingers through her hair, curled her lip in my direction and walked out of the door. Cordelia stopped mid-sentence as she turned and watched her mother leave without a word. She never mentioned it to me, but I knew Cordelia could tell how hurt I was. She tried to soothe me, explaining how Fiona had never coped well with sickness or the ill. I heard her but couldn't help but think it was more of a dig at my weakness than anything else. Perhaps she'd expected me to change since the revelation of my ancestors, but I was no stronger than I'd always been. And despite all the growing evidence the witches had brought to me, I couldn't help but find the flaw in their theory; I just didn't have enough power to really believe I was who they were saying I was.

During the days Cordelia would ensure I was well, then head off to the hotel to play the part of headmistress to the other young women of the coven. To cheer me up on Wednesday afternoon she even brought them over to visit- all except Madison, that is. She was apparently too hungover to get out of bed for a nobody of my calibre. Although the girls were pleasant and welcoming- none more than Nan- there was still a palpable discomfort coming from the tensions in the room, and the fact that we'd never really been friends. They left without saying much when Cordelia sensed the pleasantries had lilted.

Misty would often be by my side by early noon. We'd read together or talk of witchcraft and the nature of magic, but more often than not she'd bring with her a battered old cassette stereo and play Fleetwood Mac on repeat, dancing and laughing in the little space the apartment provided, always beaming a strikingly sad, distant smile as she spun. Stevie's distinctive tones soon became the background music to my recovery, and Misty never seemed happier than when she was telling me of Stevie's life as though she were her Wikipedia page. Then around supper time almost every night, Cordelia would return with something delicious to eat and repugnant to drink; she continued making me smoothies and shakes and potions of every kind. They were all, however, a funny shade of green. But each served a different purpose; to build strength, to protect, to heal. And by day 5 I was no longer worried by the fact that I'd unintentionally become Delia's guinea pig. Her herbs and potions seemed to work wonders.

Later that evening, as Stevie softly sang of Silver Springs, and Cordelia and Misty washed the dishes from our meal, there was a light knock at the door. I immediately assumed it was Fiona, but then changed my mind when I thought of how she would never be so polite. I then mused about Joe possibly being too polite and knocking on his own door after allowing us to stay here for so long. I smiled quietly to myself, fiddling with the tiny black shreds of fringe that dangled from the shawl Misty had thrown onto the bed during her dance. Cordelia's footsteps lightly cracked against the floor as she opened the door, smiling. Her smile soon fell away, however, when she was greeted with a familiar face. 'What do you want?' she asked sternly, flicking her eyes to her left to quickly brush over me. The familiar scent of cigarillo smoke wafted in through the open door and I drew a breath gratingly.

'My little bird,' Myrtle began, slowly. Cordelia sighed, resting a hand on the door knob and dropping her head. 'I cannot possibly imagine where to start. I've gone over this a thousand times in my head, but I know there's nothing one can really say in these situations. I just wish you could know how sorry I am and how utterly terrible I feel.' There was a brief pause.

'I'm sure Acantha feels much worse, having being half burnt to death,' Delia fired back, sharply.

'I've come to make amends. I would like to send my deepest apologies. I am truly sorry, sparrow. I got too entangled in thoughts of revenge, thoughts of protecting my darling Cordelia,' a gloved hand made its way past the threshold to cup the blonde's stoic face, 'that I was blinded by it. I was determined. And I realise now how despicable my actions were.' Her voice began to tremble, as it always did when she became impassioned, but Delia's expression remained emotionless and hard. 'Can you forgive me, darling?' She stroked her thumb gently across Cordelia's cheek.

'I'm not ready to talk to you about this yet, Myrtle.' She glanced back to me, causing the hand to drop from her face, and questioned me with her eyes. I lightly shook my head, indicating my apprehension at seeing her also. 'And neither is Acantha,' she sighed. A light puff of smoke blew into the doorway around Cordelia's head and a heeled shoe scuffed the wooden floor.

'Very well,' Myrtle responded, sniffing lightly and turning on her heels. Cordelia closed the door softly and sighed deeply as she rested her head against it. I watched quietly as her cheeks slowly began to burn a light rouge and her eyes turned glassy. Misty walked to her and rested a hand on her shoulder, comfortingly, as Stevie lullabied us from the background.


	12. Chapter 12

Not 24 hours later, I was once again swallowing down mouthfuls of dark green sludge; this one filled with enzymes and vitamins and very little magic. The pairs of eyes that encouraged me, relaxed as I finished the final mouthful, no longer bothering to attempt to hide my obvious disgust. 'Right, this is it. Are you ready?' Misty asked, with an air of excitement trilling through the soft notes of her warm Southern twang. I nodded with a half-smile, nervously. She de-shawled, protectively folding the vintage material and laying it on a kitchen chair, far away from any potential damage, before hauling over a bucket of warm soapy water and a pile of clean towels. The pair then began their task by removing the sheets from around my legs and dunking a towel each into the warm water. They started at the top of the thigh, rubbing the thick, dried clay mud from my flesh, Misty nodding lightly to herself with every inch that she revealed. She seemed pleased with the results and her reaction calmed me. The pair then took it in turns, rinsing cloths, sinking their fingers into re-warmed swamp mud to peel clumps from my pink skin. I breathed deeply, feeling truly free for the first time in almost nine days, smiling elatedly and full of relief as I wiggled my toes, happily. They danced, beautifully on the end of my right foot. 'My best work yet, if y'all don't mind me bragging,' Misty grinned as she ran a hand over my flesh, inspecting every inch like a fine hand-crafted table.

'Brag away, Misty. You're an absolute genius,' I smiled up to her, taking her hand in thanks.

'Are you in pain? Are they sore?' Cordelia asked, concernedly, from behind her. I shook my head as my eyes filled lightly with tears.

'No, not at all. Not in the slightest. They feel wonderful,' I beamed.

Later that evening as Misty slept in what was once my makeshift bed, I cautiously wobbled around the apartment, delighting in my reinstated freedom, breathing and feeling contentedly alive. I perched on the side of the bed, gazing out of the window at the red and blue alternating neon lights, finding myself suddenly overcome with a sadness. The lights reminded me of Fiona and of all those magical moments we shared together when no one else was around. I missed how close we'd gotten; drunkenly dancing in the kitchenette to jazz music, listening to her talk for hours of her travels around the world. I sighed, wishing she had been here to see how strong I was now, to see how wonderfully I could walk and hold myself up on two pink, fresh legs. I absentmindedly rubbed my knee before curling into the soft clean bedding and drifting off to sleep, my knees pulled high to my chest as I cradled them.

I awoke after 3am. I knew it immediately, as the bar across the street was closed and as I opened my eyes I was in complete darkness. I rolled over, feeling the blankets weighted from the other side of me and the strong unmistakable scent of bourbon and cigarettes assaulted my senses. 'Fiona?' I hissed, tugging pointlessly at the sheet she prevented me from covering myself with. She giggled softly like a child and I felt her roll onto her stomach.

'I hear you're fixed,' she slurred, and from the origin of her voice I realised she was halfway down the bed. I couldn't see her but I knew she was smiling and it warmed me, regardless of how pissed I was at her abandonment.

'So you've come back now there's nothing we need you for?' I huffed, frustratedly giving up on the sheets and collapsing my head back into my pillow.

'I saved your ass, kid. Remember that,' she warned lightly. 'Anyway, I'm not a very good nurse,' she admitted, nonchalantly. 'But I've been busy helping you in another way.'

'Really?' I mumbled as my eyes willed me back to sleep. 'And how does you getting drunk and disappearing for 4 days help me?' She scoffed playfully, dismissing my comments, before blindly padding the bedding with her hand, reaching for my legs. Her fingers caught the shape of my calf and she readjusted so she could reach it comfortably, running her hands gently up to my thigh.

'Does it hurt?' Her maternal care was stifled but evident and I lightly grinned into my pillow.

'No, not at all.'

'Can I see them?' she whispered.

'Misty's asleep. You can't put the light on, it'll wake her.' She tutted under her breath.

'I don't need light to see. Don't you remember who I am?' she laughed, shakily lifting herself onto all fours and dragging what little blanket I did have covering my bare legs slowly towards her. 'I just need to touch them,' she hushed, mutedly to herself. I turned onto my back, rolling my eyes at the disturbance, and the chill of cold air that hit me, but instantly warmed as her soft hands found my skin and slowly moved up and down the lengths of my legs. I suddenly found myself very awake and very aware of what was happening. I tried to remain still, listening to her breaths and the soft murmur of her skin simmering against mine. 'They're beautiful,' she reassured. I blushed and was thankful for the darkness. 'And you're sure you're not in any pain?' I shook my head lightly.

'No, I'm definitely not in pain,' I whispered, as my fingers began to nervously reach for the sheets once more. Fiona's digits had reached above my knees and we're continuing north. They halted, however, at the top of my thighs.

'Not even here?' she asked, thickly, as she lightly danced over the dark pink scars that were there long before I was ever sent to the pyre. I sighed lightly, attempting to hide my discomfort.

'They… they don't hurt, Fiona,' I said finally, shuffling my legs to break her contact, and reaching for the blanket's protection. She huffed and clamoured to the empty pillow, puffing a warm scent of faded expensive perfume in my face as her head hit the feathers. I turned to face her, unaware of how close her nose was to mine until I felt her warm breath hit my cheek.

'You going to explain that to me?' she asked, suddenly sounding like a teacher, instantly making me feel 12. I sighed, wrapping my hands in one another under the sheet.

'It's not a very interesting story,' I whispered back, into the darkness in front of me.

'Good. I didn't ask for a goddamn story. Tell me the truth,' she slurred into her pillow.

'It's just something I've always done.' I shuffled uncomfortably, sinking further into the blankets. Her silence told me she was still waiting and I huffed into my chest. 'Remember when you said you thought there were two people in me?' I canted my head.

'The person you are and the person the world wants you to be,' she recalled and I heard the faint smile taint every word.

'Yeah. Well, the person I am is sad. The person the world wants me to be can't exist without a way of getting rid of that sadness…' I trailed and clenched my eyes shut tight, shame reaching warmly around my neck and cheeks.

'So you hurt yourself?' she said plainly.

'It's pathetic,' I breathed.

'Yes,' she agreed. 'It is. It's pathetic. It's weak. It's everything you're not.' She breathed deeply as her feet shifted further down the bed and she ran a hand through her hair, eliciting the faint smell of fruit. 'What if the person you actually are is perfectly fine? And the person the world wants you to be is a pathetic waste of space? What if that's what you've been told you are by everyone around you, so it's all you believe? What if you're weak only because you've been told you're weak?' I furrowed my brow.

'What _are_ you rambling about?' I laughed softly.

'I called your mother,' Fiona said suddenly. My body stiffened as my heart made its way to my throat. 'She's coming over.'

'What? You called- why would you do that?' Panic laced my attempted composure.

'Because you nearly burned to death,' she said dismissively.

'But I don't wanna see my mother. I, I definitely don't want _you_ to see her.'

'I've got some questions for her,' she whispered as she reached out and planted a finger gently on the tip of my nose. 'It's going to be fine,' she giggled lightly; the scent of her bourbon breath hitting me in the face. I closed my eyes and rolled my face towards her, burying myself in pillows. Her nails lightly scratched the back of my scalp as she laughed, carefree and light. Though my heart pounded in my chest and my stomach had dropped in agonised dread, I still found myself momentarily lost in the thought of how happy Fiona seemed. I wished she was always this lovely and caring and not just when she was drunk and we were alone. I grumbled into the pillow before allowing myself to come up for air. Her smile still lingered on lips that were only centimetres from mine.

'I don't believe you,' I smiled, shaking my head lightly. She chuckled once more at my pointless frustration and pressed her nose to mine. 'I like it when you're like this,' I whispered. 'You're different around other people.' I felt her sigh softly and a hand that smelt faintly of tobacco rested against my cheek.

'I'm just relieved you're okay. That's why I'm so happy,' she said softly, honesty clinging to each word.

'Nothing to do with the pint of bourbon then?' I tittered.

'Christ, what are you? My mother?' she joked, covering my face with her hand. We lay in silence for a few moments longer; the rest of the room, indeed the rest of the world, seemingly evaporated, leaving us the only two people on the earth, breathing in each other's air and touching our heads together. Fiona kicked off her heels and we sank into one another as we slept.


	13. Chapter 13

Despite my weeks-long respite in Joe's bed, I'd found it easy to sleep comfortably besides Fiona. My subconscious mind took note of every movement, every noise, every breath that came from her and my body moved accordingly, trying to accommodate her for as long as possible; desperate to keep her close while I could. 'Rise and shine,' Cordelia chimed into the room as she entered, holding a box of doughnuts and a cup holder carrying two cups. She placed the box on the empty space beside me and it was only when I leaned in to open it, I realised that Fiona was missing. My brow furrowed. 'Everything alright?' Delia asked, handing me a large herbal tea- this one was thankfully from the coffee shop and not Delia's greenhouse supplies.

'Yeah,' I muttered distractedly as my eyes shot around the room, noting Misty's early departure and my solitude. 'Have you seen Fiona?' I asked, removing the lid and taking a sip.

'No, honey. Not since she walked out.'

'No, I mean, she was here last night. She woke me around 3am.'

'Drunk?'

'Obviously.' Delia rolled her eyes, picking out a chocolate covered doughnut and taking a bite.

'Did she say where she'd been?'

'No. From the smell of her I'm guessing a bar. For 4 days,' I smirked as I flung back the blankets, Delia smiling into her coffee. I stood onto ankles that clicked lightly and turned to grin at Cordelia. 'I think I need to do some walking around today; build the muscles back up.' She nodded as she took another bite.

'Not out of the apartment though- at least not on your own. You might fall or hurt yourself.'

'I'll be okay,' I said, lunging with each step I took around the bed, careful not to spill my tea. Suddenly the door to the bathroom flung open and Fiona stepped out from behind a wall of steam, wrapped in a towel. Her hair was dark with water and curled messily about her neck. 'Jesus, you made me jump,' I shrieked, wiping the bottom of my cardboard cup of the dribbles of tea that ran down the sides. I beamed up towards her, breathing a sigh of relief that she hadn't just disappeared on me again.

'It walks,' Fiona mocked as she made her way to the dresser to rifle through a collection of underwear, glancing at my now weakened legs. She looked innocent and average in her barefooted stance, her grandeur and power somehow lessened by the normalcy of her appearance. I smiled quietly to myself as she passed me, smelling like hot soap and fresh linen.

'Where the hell have you been?' Cordelia asked, finishing her breakfast and replacing her handbag on her shoulder as she stood.

'Oh Christ, don't start, Delia. I had stuff to do, alright?' she placated to the underwear drawer, waving a hand dismissively towards her daughter. Cordelia sighed and shook her head.

'I'm going to the hotel, I'll be back later in case you need anything,' she said, as she turned to face the door.

'She doesn't need anything,' Fiona responded. 'I'm here; if she needs anything I'll get it. You just concentrate on wrangling those little witches of your own. You must have your work cut out with them; silly little girl egos that far outweigh their abilities.' Fiona turned from the dresser to wave a stern finger in her daughter's direction. 'You need to get that in check before they get themselves in trouble.' She sharply turned her head back, flicking droplets of cooled water into the air with her hair as she did so, before selecting a pair of black lace panties and pushing the drawer closed with her hip. Cordelia sighed.

'Thanks for breakfast,' I said as she stepped out of the door. Fiona rested against the dresser, her underwear balled in her hand, as she reached for a cigarette and lit it with a determined glare. She caught me watching and slid the carton across the dresser towards me. I took a tentative step on shaky legs towards her, smiling my appreciation and removed a cigarette from the packet, putting it to my lips. Then I waited, as I always did, for Fiona to light the end. She exhaled a thick stream of smoke, smirking, as water droplets journeyed from the crook of her neck to her swollen cleavage in one smooth movement.

'Do it yourself, Miss Blood-Descendant-Of-Scathach,' she mocked, cockily, her eyes wide.

'You know I can't,' I grumbled. 'That isn't my power.'

'And what exactly _is_ your power?' she asked, scathingly. I shrugged.

'The incredible ability to disappoint everyone, no matter how low their expectations of me are?' I smiled, settling on the end of the bed, the cigarette still hanging between my fingers.

'A self-loathing teen, how original,' Fiona scoffed, shaking her head and inhaling again from her cigarette. 'Just try it, for Christ's sake.' I sighed as I brought the stick up towards my face, glaring at it impatiently. 'Breathe,' Fiona guided. 'Stop trying so hard; there's no need.'

'Yes there is, it's really difficult,' I snapped, dropping my hand to my side as I stood. 'This is stupid,' I muttered as I walked carefully over to the oven. I switched on a burner and leant to ignite the now smoking stick of tobacco, turning to exhale, triumphantly.

'Cheater,' Fiona smirked. 'Here,' she said, sitting at the foot of the bed and opening up a folded towel. 'Dry my hair. We've got to get ready. Your mother will be here soon.' I slinked half-heartedly over to her, gripping the cigarette between my lips as I gently wrapped her dripping hair in a towel and squeezed.

'You're not going to like her, you know,' I mumbled as best as I could.

'Hmm? Why not?' Fiona replied distractedly as I continued to run the towel over her head.

'She's not very likable.' I shrugged and rolled my eyes as my terrible attempt at small talk.

'Do _you_ like her?' A cloud of smoke appeared above her head as she spoke.

'No,' I said, wiping the back of her neck before setting the towel to one side. Fiona turned to face me. 'But no one likes their own parents.' I took a drag and exhaled before continuing. 'Are you going to ask her about Scathach?' She nodded softly. 'She won't know anything, you know. She's never really been privy to any witch talk.'

'How did your aunt die?' Fiona asked unexpectedly, as she flicked her ash onto the lid of the doughnut box. I shifted in my seat, fiddling with the corner of the damp towel.

'Why?'

'I'd just like to know.' I sighed.

'They found her locked inside the store she owned, after it had burned down.' Fiona's interest clearly piqued. I licked my lips, realising I was going to have to start from the beginning. 'She had this tiny store called Pentagram City. It sold books and charms, candles, ingredients for basic white Wiccan spells. Mostly crap she tried to pawn off on mortal believers and sceptics in the street. Anyway, one night there was a fire and by the time the fire department got there they realised my aunt was inside,' I blinked for a moment, taking another drag of the cigarette that wilted between my fingers, heavy with ash. I followed Fiona's lead and flicked it atop the doughnut box lid.

'Was it an accident?' Fiona asked, unfazed and direct in her tone.

'They thought so initially. They assumed a candle had been knocked over. But the doors had been locked from the outside.'

'Christ,' she mumbled, standing and putting her cigarette out in the ashtray on the kitchen table.

'When they did the autopsy, they found holes through her wrists. Her fingers had been bound together with wire. Her lips had been sewn shut.' Fiona turned to face me, gripping hold of the towel that threatened to loosen and fall.

'That doesn't sound like something an arsonist would do, does it?' I shook my head mildly.

'A few days ago, when you were talking about someone trying to kill me… I thought about this. I thought that maybe you were right.' Fiona scoffed.

'But you didn't say anything?'

'No, because saying something meant acknowledging that what you're saying is right, and I don't, I don't believe it.' I ran my hand through my knotted hair, remembering I hadn't yet brushed it.

'But it makes sense?' she asked, eyes wide with danger or excitement.

'It makes sense,' I sighed as I nodded, completely aware of the irony as I gazed at my Supreme.

I painted a thin layer of dark red gloss along my bottom lip and padded my mouth together as I sighed at my reflection in the mirror. I fiddled with my freshly brushed, static hair and pulled at the sleeves of my long top. I broke eye contact with myself however when Fiona re-entered from the bathroom, fully dressed in her signature figure hugging Chanel dress, Louis Vuitton heels and a perfectly light curl to each soft bounce of freshly washed hair. Her eyes sparkled with confidence and the deep knowledge that she owned the room entirely. The air filled with the distinct scent of Chanel No. 5 as she breezed beside me, removing the lid of her own shade of red lipstick and applying it lightly to her readied pout. She glanced down as I watched her intently from the mirror. 'What's wrong?' she asked, snapping me from the fixed stare I'd caught myself making with her enchanting lips.

'Nothing,' I sighed, dragging my fingers haphazardly through my hair and sighing. 'I need a drink,' I muttered. Fiona scoffed, lightly shaking her head.

'You've been hanging around with me for too long, kid.' I smiled, lightly, as I sat on the edge of the bed. Fiona realised she didn't elicit the response she'd hoped for and turned to face me, pressing her lips together, evening out the muted robin-chest red on her mouth. 'Christ, cheer up, would you?'

'I can't; I'm too nervous. It's the two worlds, the two sides of me I didn't ever want to meet,' I tried to explain, unsure if I was making any sense. Fiona replaced the lid on her lipstick and clicked in her heels to the kitchen table and the packet of cigarettes that awaited her there. 'I haven't seen her in so long,' I whispered, glancing up at the clock on the wall, anxiously.

'Well, family reunions are always interesting if nothing else,' Fiona exhaled, matter-of-factly, displaying her obvious discomfort at soothing the somewhat distressed. I glanced up at her and smirked, opening my mouth to allow some witty response I hadn't yet thought up come bounding out, when there was a light knock at the door. I stood from the bed, eyes wide and wired. Fiona warmly smiled in my direction and lazily sauntered to the door, letting me know, with one soft, luxurious blink that she was in control of the entire situation. I allowed myself to breathe, bringing a hand to my chest as her hand gripped the door knob. 'You ready?' she asked, seemingly content to wait forever, if that was necessary. I dragged my gaze from the floor steadily up to Fiona's dark eyes and nodded lightly. The veins in her exposed forearm clenched as her fingers gripped the handle tightly, and in that split second I saw a thousand potential ways the meeting could go. None of them, however, turned out to be exactly what happened when Fiona Goode opened her door that morning.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Thank you again for the lovely comments; I'm so pleased there are people that are interested in reading, what is turning out to be, a pretty wild ride (going places I'd never dreamed!). Hope you enjoy this (incredibly long- sorry!) chapter.**

The woman who stood in the doorway of Joe's apartment, with an expression of deep, tortured concern painted across her dark eyes, was not my mother. At least not the mother Fiona was expecting. Before a word was breathed between them, Fiona turned to face me, searching for an explanation. 'I'm sorry to bother you, Ma'am, I'm looking for my daughter. Do… do I have the right address?' I peered at her from the corner of the room, unable to fight the gentle sense of comfort I found her familiar tone. I smirked at Fiona's confused expression and swallowed down my uneasiness, as she glared, open-mouthed, at the beautiful dark-skinned, raven-haired woman in front of her. 'Her name is Acantha Starling,' the voice continued, worry building, threatening to break into tears. I sighed, taking a step forward and opening the door wider.

'I'm here, Maman,' I soothed, as I stepped in front of Fiona. The glow in her eyes instantly reignited when they clapped onto me and she whimpered at my ashamed face, dropping the square of white paper that held Joe's address to the floor, reaching her arms out for me. I sighed into her embrace, inhaling her smell; the fresh notes of her perfume, the soft scent of her clean laundry. I listened to the rhythmic beating of her heart as it pounded against a rising chest and felt simultaneously comforted and stifled.

'Where… where in God's name have you been, angel? I've been looking everywhere for you,' she sobbed into my ear as she swayed me. 'Are you okay? Are you hurt?' She pulled my face from her chest to examine me, her eyes brimming with relieved tears and a thick warm smile.

'I'm okay, really,' I huffed, pulling away from her slightly. 'I'm fine.'

'You're more beautiful than I remembered,' she whispered, cupping my cheeks with her hands as she blinked away tears with eyes filled with love. I glanced up at her, unable to allow my eyes to meet hers for longer than a few fleeting seconds, before the remorse became too overwhelming. I pulled my head free, sniffing and wiping my nose with the back of my hand. I shrugged off my burning cheeks, feeling any credibility I'd once had as an adult in Fiona's eyes, slowly begin to slip from me. I worried if she saw me be a child who needed her mother, even for just a second, she would never take me seriously again.

'This, this is Fiona. Fiona Goode. She's been, er, taking care of me,' I explained, taking a step backwards into the apartment and allowing Fiona to open the door wider still. Her parted mouth morphed into a light smile as she waved a hand into the space between us, indicating for my mother to step inside. She did so as she wiped her eyes, smiling graciously as she past Fiona. The Supreme waited for everyone to enter the room before slamming the door and turning, crossing one arm across her chest, the other allowing a cigarette to linger in front of her lips.

'Does somebody want to tell me what the hell is going on? Because the last time I checked, you were white as goddamn cocaine, girl,' she spat at me from across the room. I laughed attempting to calm her.

'Wrong mother,' I whispered. Fiona scoffed, raising an eyebrow.

'No shit,' she grumbled, narrowing her eyes. 'Do you drink, Mrs…?'

'Call me Mathilde,' Maman smiled courteously, running her fingers through my hair. Fiona rolled her eyes, reaching for a glass.

'Okay, _Mathilde_ , are you drinking with me?'

'No, I'm very fine without one, thank you.'

'Ah, Christ,' Fiona whispered to herself, rolling her eyes again at what I could only assume was my mother's manners. She poured a large bourbon and drank wholeheartedly from the glass, closing her eyes against the burn. She exhaled, preparing herself. 'Okay, I'm ready,' she nodded, taking the last drag of her cigarette before abandoning it in the ashtray and perching, ladylike, on the edge of a kitchen chair. Maman pulled the silk patterned scarf from around her neck and balled it up before stuffing it into her handbag. She looked around the cramped apartment, obviously dissatisfied but politely smiling, as she slowly reversed to the bottom end of the bed, reaching for my hand as she sat. I sighed and joined her, realising it was pointless in resisting her need to mother and fuss over me. I felt her fingers lightly shaking as they laced themselves between mine, fidgeting. 'Well?' Fiona glared, resting an elbow on the table.

'It was a mix up, Fiona,' I waved my hand dismissively, shrugging Maman's restless fingers from the crook of my neck. 'Maman, please,' I hissed. 'Mathilde is my adoptive mother. _Obviously_ not blood,' I hinted, widening my eyes. 'Not really aware… of everything the Academy had to offer me. N-not like my birth mother, Bridget. So, naturally, I asked Bridget to sign the consent form. In case of any medical issues or _genetic_ abnormalities that Maman might not know about.' I raised my eyebrows and swallowed, trying to maintain my natural speech pattern. 'Which… which meant that she was the one I thought you'd contacted.' Fiona squinted at me, dubiously from across the room and I sighed, rubbing my hand against my forehead, desperately hoping she would realise I needed her to keep quiet. 'I didn't even know you knew about Maman,' I said quietly, guilt strangling me, as I pictured the hurt expression I knew she'd be donning behind me. I narrowed my eyes, ignoring the wave of heat that hit my cheeks and the wetness of my palms, and begged Fiona, with nothing but my glare to keep the conversation strictly mortal. She smirked, almost as if she'd heard me, but was distracted by my mother's sigh.

'I can't thank you enough for taking care of my angel,' she whispered from behind me, her voice threatening to crack once again. 'I… I had no idea where she was, all this time.' She sniffed and replaced a warm hand on my shoulder. My eyes remained locked with Fiona's.

'You mean she ran away from home to come to my Academy? How shocking,' Fiona smirked.

'When you said, on the phone, that something had happened to her, I… I nearly…' she trailed and I felt her shuffle on the mattress next to me. 'The police had said that after only 17 days the chance of finding a missing person alive and safe is practically none existent. I… I had almost lost hope. But now here you are, and you're… you're perfect,' she whimpered to the back of my head. I sighed and turned to comfort her, offering her the most genuine smile I could muster before returning to Fiona's amused expression. I softly mouthed 'no witch talk' as discreetly as I could, unsure if she'd even seen me, let alone understood. I pulled at the sleeves of my top nervously. Fiona's light chuckle brought my attention back to her and she rolled her tongue along her teeth, readying herself. She was about to say something potentially damaging, I could tell.

'Did you know, Mathilde, that your daughter, right at this very minute is trying her damned hardest to convince me to keep my mouth shut?' My eyes widened at her brashness, her absolute gall. I shook my head mutedly, trying not to attract my mother's attention. Maman looked from me to meet Fiona's confident smile, briefly wiping her damp eyes before questioning with a furrowed brow. 'You girl has a secret,' she crooned, delighting in the discomfort I clearly displayed. 'I can hear her begging me in her head. She's so loud, so very determined to keep this from you. And as her friend, as her mentor, I really want to comply. But as a mother, I think it my responsibility to tell you what's really going on here, don't you?' Fiona's words were almost empty, almost as though everything she was saying, every word that left her lips was meant purely just to antagonise me. I watched her reptile eyes brush over me searching for a reaction.

'Wha… what is it?' Maman whispered, nervously. I stood and turned to face her.

'It's nothing,' I shrugged, mildly shaking my head. 'I think Fiona must have gotten me confused with another student. It's… whatever she tells you isn't about me, Maman,' I panicked, unconvincingly trying to deter Fiona. But all she did was laugh from behind me.

'Oh, Mathilde, isn't it funny that poor little Acantha is clearly getting herself worked up about something, but little does she know, that she's not the only one with secrets. Hmm? You and I share a secret, don't we?' Fiona's eyes glinted, full of power and mischief as she grinned knowingly at my mother, whose expression remained firmly confused. I glanced between the two of them, pausing my fruitless attempts to shut Fiona up while I processed what she was saying.

'I'm sorry, we do?' Maman questioned lightly.

'Fiona, what are you doing?' I muttered through gritted teeth, willing her to stop talking. She waved a hand in my direction dismissively before coiling it back around the glass that sat on the table.

'I personally hate secrets,' she continued, glorious in her endeavour to make this as uncomfortable as possible for everyone in the room but herself. 'So I, being the only one who knows _everybody's_ innermost thoughts, think I should clear the air a little.'

'Please don't,' I whispered, my eyes wide with panic. She tutted, dropping her grasp on her glass slightly.

'Oh, Acantha, stop being so uptight. Here,' she said, smiling like a maniac, as she stood and took me by the shoulders, sitting me in the chair next to hers at the table. She pushed her glass towards me, winking. 'Have a drink, darling.'

'I'm sorry,' Maman stood, her finger in the air, indicating her protest. 'No, I don't permit Acantha to drink alcohol. She's not of legal age yet.' She fiddled with the strap of her pocketbook and tapped her toe on the floor, uncomfortably. 'Thank you very much for your hospitality, Mrs Goode,' she began, taking a step forward.

'No,' Fiona said sternly, her raised volume reverberating from the walls that surrounded us. 'I do hope you're not beginning your goodbyes, Mathilde. We have a lot to get through.' Maman swallowed deeply and strained, before taking a step back towards the bed and sitting, nervously. 'Good. Now I think I'll start with Acantha's big, _dark_ secret. You know how young girls are, Mathilde, always thinking of things in such broad terms. As though anything Acantha has to say is going to be life altering,' she sniggered, lightly shaking her head. 'So, here it is; your adopted daughter is a witch.' I brought a hand to my mouth trying to hide the rage and the shame I felt brimming up from inside me. She'd betrayed me and it took me a moment to digest that.

'Fiona!' I yelled, standing and slamming my hand on the table.

'Oh no, kid. Keep your feelings to yourself for a minute. Let's see what's going on here,' she nodded her head in my mother's direction and I glanced up at her. She sighed lightly, twisting her finger around the corner of her silk scarf that threaded through the opening on her handbag. 'Not the reaction of someone who just discovered her daughter is meddling in the occult, hmm? No questions or glances of disgust. No Bible passages or names of a good psychiatrist?' she cackled before curling her lip momentarily in my mother's direction. She heard my elevated breathing as my rage turned to confusion, and softened her expression. 'Shock horror, Acantha; she knew all along. Isn't that right, Mrs Mom?' My face crumpled in on itself as I tried to understand what Fiona was telling me. The room began to smudge around the edges as my eyes filled with tears. I breathed, steadying myself, and retook my seat at the table.

'That's… That's not possible. Is it?' I spluttered. My mother remained still, eerily so, as she avoided my eye contact. She then composed herself, standing and meeting Fiona's intimidating gaze.

'Why are you doing this?' she hissed, her face seemingly contorting into something I'd never seen before; an expression of anger or rage, a power so heavy I briefly questioned if it really was my old Maman standing in Joe's living area before me.

'Because I could smell the Voodoo on you the moment I opened the door,' Fiona sneered, folding her arms. 'And because we both know who this girl is, the power she really holds, and I would burn in hell before letting you manipulate her to your ways for one second longer.' I squeezed my fingers to my thumbs, attempting to get some feeling back in them. The shock, the confusion of what was playing out in front of me was too much. I feared my body was shutting down. My eyelids grew heavy, my breathing became lulled. Was I passing out? No, I couldn't let myself. I slammed a balled fist against the wood of the table top and stood, catching both of their attentions and attempting to catch my breath.

'Why are you talking about Voodoo to my mother, Fiona? She's not Voodoo, you're not Voodoo, are you Ma?' I begged with tearing eyes and dissociative words that seemed to tumble from my numbing lips. Fiona turned to face me, a light look of pity flitted across her face. She dropped her head, gathering herself before returning her determined expression to my mother, a light smirk controlled her lips.

'And now for Mathilde's secret,' she announced into the room.

'Viper,' Maman hissed, through upturned lips. 'How dare you try to turn my daughter against me.'

'You think that's what I'm doing? Oh, Mathilde, I'm just trying to lighten the burden of holding all these secrets inside me. If Acantha ends up hating your deceitful, twisted guts, that would just be a pleasant coincidence,' she grinned, curling her finger around a strand of blonde that lilted against her face. 'Of course,' she continued, turning to me with high arched eyebrows 'If you're struggling to believe me, kid, I can easily show you all the lies buzzing around your so-called mother's skull?' I swallowed, bringing a hand to my forehead, completely taken aback by the insanity in front of me.

'Wait, just wait a moment,' I whispered, trying to collect myself. 'Maman.' I took a step from the table, questioning my mother's pure face. The face I'd been looking up at and trusting since I was 7 months old. The face I'd always known and considered as my mother's. A face of unrelenting love, protection, passion. The face of the woman I'd longed to impress and make proud. As I made my way to her I saw an expression I'd never seen before bubbling just beneath her surface. I reached for her hands and they warmly gripped mine in return. She smiled; the way she had done when I'd asked her why I wasn't allowed in the basement; the way she had done when I'd asked her about the _Mange Loa_. She smiled to hide something and I felt my stomach drop within me. 'Maman, this… this isn't true, is it? You don't have anything to do with Voodoo Magick,' I hiccupped, attempting to stifle a sob and Maman's fingers wiped a tear from my cheek, the way they had done my entire life.

'Oh, child,' she sighed, fighting against her own tears. To my right I felt Fiona readjust her hair, scoffing nonchalantly as she did so. She reached a hand out towards me and rested it on my forearm. The moment I felt the soothing warmth radiating from her skin I lost myself in a stirring; almost like an electric shock that curled its way along my bones, through every vertebrae in my spine, up towards my skull, which shook with buzzing lights. I heard myself groaning as I closed my eyes, trying to fight it, but it was all consuming. Then, from some faraway place behind me, I heard the echo of a baby's cry. It whipped around me like the wind. I tried to turn to face the sound, but my body was frozen. Coming from the lights that danced in front my closed eyes, I saw a figure standing in a doorway. Above its head charms hung in tight groups of 4, clanging noisily in an unfelt breeze. Then a distorted voice whispered all around me. _For the child; your protection._ The figure reached out its arms towards me; long, branch-like shadows marked with white chalk and dressed with red and gold wires that stuck into the dark flesh, that seemed to attack my face as they gathered a bundle, seemingly from inside me, and rocked the fussy baby, whose echoed cries began to drift away. _My child for my protection_ , another voice whispered, hauntingly. And then the sound of footsteps, becoming lighter and lighter as the infant-bringer left safe, but childless. The figure in the doorway then turned to look into the eyes of the pink baby in her arms, kissed its forehead, and dragged a bloodied finger from the bridge of its nose to its chin, eliciting another intense sob from a tiny pair of lungs. _Bound by Bondye, bound by Loa, Scathach blood is new in you, child, you will come to our side._ The words bounced around me, over and over again, before the figure coiled a long piece of twine around the bundle, fiddling with the ivory bones and pendants that hung from it. _A collier to welcome you, to ensure your safe journey in the house of Voudoun._ All at once the image in front of me disappeared, blowing away like sand and I felt the hair around my face move, as though in a breeze. The buzzing in my head ceased immediately and I panted, trying to catch my breath as I opened my eyes, returning to Joe's apartment. I pulled my hands from both Fiona and Maman's touch, feeling overwhelmed and claustrophobic at the light ringing in my head.

'What happened?' I breathed, glancing to Fiona, who wiped a pool of perspiration from her upper lip. I wrinkled my face at the lingering smell of burning sage and old, raw meat.

'The truth,' she snarled. 'This Voodoo bitch traded you for your mother's protection from her savage ways. And then she bound your magic.'

'That's not what happened,' Maman chimed, rolling her eyes. 'Angel, I was just trying to protect you,' she whispered, desperately.

'It's why you've never been able to master the Seven Wonders though you have Scathach blood running through your veins,' Fiona commented as she shakily made her way to the table and sat down, bringing a hand to her head.

'Are you okay?' I asked, making my way over to her. Maman put a hand on my shoulder and I peeled myself from her, offering only a look of disgust as I walked towards my Supreme.

'I showed you the truth, kid. That takes a lot of magic. But it was worth it, if it means you see what I see when I look at your darling _Maman_ ,' she mocked, a bitterness rolling from her tongue. She reached for the remaining bourbon and sipped, just enough to lace her lips.

'Baby, are you really going to believe this woman you've known for 5 minutes over your own mother?' Maman spluttered with disbelief in her eyes. I looked up from Fiona, taking her hand in mine as I stood beside her.

'I don't know what I believe,' I huffed, pinching the bridge of my nose and closing my eyes. My hands shook as though the knowledge Fiona had given was flowing freely and alive in my veins. I tried to breathe, to distinguish the images that flashed through my mind, but all I could concentrate on was the bitter metallic taste that coated my mouth and the pulse that seemed only to speed up. 'I need you to go, Maman. I'm sorry, I have to think. I have to…' I trailed, losing myself in Fiona's comforting squeeze against my hand. 'I have to try to make sense of all this,' I shrugged, biting my bottom lip. Maman sighed, shaking her head.

'I can't believe this,' she whispered to the floor. She suddenly fixed her expression, smirking strangely at Fiona, before pulling the silk scarf from her handbag and whipping it quickly around her neck. 'I want a phone call from you, Acantha. I, I want to know you're safe. Okay?' Hey eyes softened as I nodded mildly. 'And you, witch,' she spoke towards Fiona with a decidedly affirmed tone. 'You try to turn my child against me again, I will destroy you- Supreme or no Supreme, no one comes between a mother and her child.' Her glazing eyes bore into the unaffected, unafraid blonde who scoffed and sipped from her glass. Fiona wasn't surprised by my mother's uncharacteristic behaviour, but I was growing wary of her, unused to her force, to her flitting expressions.

'Maman!' I chastised, pointing to the door. My mother pursed her lips and casually wiped the drying streams from her cheeks, before following my direction and leaving the apartment. Fiona and I stayed in silence until the old building shook with the force of the main door being closed downstairs. I exhaled and sat beside her in one fluid movement, almost afraid to remain standing on such shaky legs. Fiona's grip of my hand lingered and I caught her looking at it.

'It's true, isn't it?' I asked with panic and disbelief lacing my voice.

'Hmm?'

'I'm an idiot.' Fiona laughed softly.

'We're all idiots when it comes to family. Look at Cordelia and me. There was a point in her life when she trusted me, relied on me for everything. Now she knows better, and so do you.' I sighed, absent-mindedly fiddling with the tips of Fiona's fingers, disregarding, for a moment, how much power they held, how much potential.

'I can't believe I never saw it. I can't believe Bridget never told me,' I scoffed, shaking my head.

'Bridget?'

'My birth mother. I didn't meet her until I was 14, when I realised something weird was happening to me. I sought her out to ask her if I had a disease, or if there was a history of mental illness in the family. I thought I was going crazy,' I smiled and Fiona laughed gently through her nose. 'But when she said witches I… well, I totally lost my shit. I kept going back to her, but the whole Wiccan thing really freaked her out.' I paused, waiting for a sign from Fiona that I should stop talking, but she just continued quietly looking at me with planets in her eyes. She looked tired, drained. 'She was afraid it would get her killed- petrified of it. She'd stopped practicing altogether, but my aunt was crazy about it. That's how I learned everything I knew about witchcraft. She taught me everything she'd ever learned.' I took a cigarette from Fiona's packet and brought it to my lips, glaring pointlessly at the end of it before huffing. 'But all that time she knew I was being raised by Voodoo Magick. No wonder I don't have any actual powers,' I sighed, standing and lighting the cigarette with the stove burners.

'You have power, Acantha. It was bound, not erased. We can get it back,' Fiona muttered casually, as she spun the cigarette packet around on the table with her black painted fingernail.

'We can? You can do that?' I asked, wide eyed as I retook my seat beside her.

'You keep forgetting who I am, kid. There isn't much I can't do,' Fiona smirked, taking the cigarette from my fingers and inhaling a deep drag.


End file.
